What is Lost and What is Found
by Lauriarty
Summary: Teen!Lock AU. John Watson is seventeen years old and so far has lost his girlfriend in a car crash and is still attempting to find a reason to live. Sherlock Holmes is a labeled freak stuck in his ugly past. It's a complicated match, but it can work out... right? (MAYBE LATER BECAUSE THIS IS ABANDONED FOR NOW)
1. The Journal

**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock or anything about it.**

**Author's Note: As promised previously... here is your real chapter. For those who do not know, I put this story on hold and unedited to continue working on my other fanfic. That one is nearly finished, so I've decided to resurface this once more. Thank you for your amazing patience!**

**Additional thanks to my beta. :D**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The notebook was plain - simply made of a green sort of leather. The pages were all binder paper; John would have given up if he accidentally bought a blank paged one.

It sat on John's desk, still with the plastic on: brand new. He wondered for a moment if he should even open it at all - maybe stick it in a drawer and tell the counselor he'd lost it.

_No,_ a voice in his mind insisted._ You're better than that._

So John had picked up a broken, dull pencil, unwrapping the notebook at the same time.

He opened to the first clean page, smoothing it out. He did not exactly want to crease the spine just yet, however.

John wrote the first word, and soon began to write a few more:

_Nothing,_ he wrote. There is absolutely nothing for me to write in here. _Nothing ever happens to me._

He paused for a moment before adding his initials at the ending.

After he finished John sighed heavily and let go of the pencil, watching it roll off the desk and onto the floor.

It was so pointless, what his counselor had told him to do.

"Hello, John, my name is Ella," The counselor had asked that same day in a polite, recited voice. The counselor's room was filled with distracting things like a rubix cube and numerous books, which John decided to look at simply to have something else to think about. The paced ticking of the clock could be heard as well as the soft humming of the counselor's laptop. It was the beginning of the first day of school, and so John could hear the shouts and conversations of students right outside the office. He wondered how many of them were new like him.

"Hello," John finally replied.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Er... Okay."

"Okay? Describe."

"Well, I got to my room unscathed. All my teachers don't seem very bad..."

"Now, that is all good. But I wasn't referring to _that._"

"Yes - sorry," John said, keeping himself occupied by studying the motivational posters on the wall. "Well, my girlfriend... she _did_ just die not too long ago. I'm sure you know that."

"I do. Are you comfortable talking about it?"

"...No."

"That's fine. How about I ask you slowly?"

John hated this. He moved to this school because he wanted to start over with a fresh, new start. He had not expected a school counselor to be involved. Now, here he sat, feeling like he was being interrogated rather than comforted.

"How are you feeling about it?" Thompson asked, her pencil on her notes.

"It wasn't very fun, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not at all what I was asking."

"Okay."

_This is feeling more difficult than it should,_ John had thought. _Aren't counselors supposed to make you feel better? _Maybe it was just him.

"John, are you having any sort of... negative thoughts?"

The question was slightly abrupt, and John sighed impatiently. He couldn't call it a day until someone asked him that.

"No."

"All right," Ella nodded. She did not seem too convinced.

After an uncomfortable silence, John cleared his throat.

"May I go now?"

"I want you to write in this notebook," Ella suddenly said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a green notebook. It was as if she had been waiting the entire time to say this.

"What is that?" John asked, even though he knew exactly what it was.

"Just write about anything. What you're having for dinner, how you feel waking up, any tests..."

John had shook his head in disbelief, but forced a smile until she was finished. He had stared at the notebook in between he and his counselor and picked it up reluctantly, planning to throw it away outside.

"Thank you," he had said, turning to exit the room.

"John."

"What?"

"No one should be able to look in it. It's for your eyes only. Please just write for a few days."

There was a pause before John nodded slightly, swinging the door open and closing it behind him.

Now he stared at the journal in distaste. Why couldn't he have been given more homework or meditation exercises?

Finally, John glanced at the clock and switched off his light. Although it was still only afternoon and the first day of school, John felt exhausted already. He threw himself onto his new bed without changing.

In a matter of seconds, John lost consciousness.

...

_Met up with a few rugby players. Coach insisted. All are not as different as my old team from before. Still all drink like there's no tomorrow. Fight with each other even though they're friends. None of them noticed my injury. -JW_

John shrugged to himself, closing the notebook and shoving it in a drawer under his desk.

Suddenly, the door of the dorm opened and John jumped up.

It was Mike Stamford.

John knew this because who else would come into the room, if not his new, assigned roommate?

With a last reassuring brush of the drawer his notebook sat in, John stood up, smoothing out his sweater and giving a polite smile.

Not a real one. Not a true, welcome one. John was always so sure anyone would be able to see right through him.

Then again, no one did... not yet. No one ever did.

Sure, John felt a slight disappointment when Stamford nodded in greeting.

"Hello," he said with a smile as he dragged his luggage in. "Roommate?"

"Yes," John approached Stamford to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you. Name's Stamford."

"Lovely to meet you," John replied, moving to help with the luggage. "I'm Watson."

Together, they brought the luggage on the opposite side of the room that John had already claimed.

"I hope you don't mind," John said, straightening up. "I've already unpacked a bit... I mean, I was thinking about this side of the room..." He gestured to the right side where most of John's stuff were scattered.

"Not at all," Mike shrugged. "It's all fine. Do whatever you feel like doing - I don't mind at all."

"Oh," John said, taken aback. His other roommates had been quite difficult to deal with. It was different and sort of relieving to hear the words that had just been said. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

It was a bit of a relief to know that Mike Stamford seemed like the kind of person who would not try to invade in John's personal life. Or, like a certain other roommate John could clearly remember, would try to set him up or drag him to parties. All to get drunk and most likely fail school entirely.

After Mike finished unpacked he made some conversation with John. Apparently Mike's old roommate had moved away and Mike had been at the school for two years, just like everyone else was. He wasn't the rich type, nor the popular type but he wasn't hated much either.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Mike said.

"Sorry about what?"

"I won't be able to help you out much with the whole 'popularity' thing. I have friends, but... I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Yeah." At least John thought he did. Still, he was okay with his roommate being neutral and passive.

Though there was still something deep inside John that wished Stamford would care... just a little. No. Wouldn't possibly. Stamford also seemed like he would keep to himself and understand exactly what personal space means.

Good.

Though... was it?

And as John watched Mike exit the room once more to do whatever normal teenagers usually did during the day, he felt the same feelings again.

Very unsure of what anything concerning his life was at all.

* * *

**Annnnnd there we are. I'll get the rest of it updated to catch up where we left off. Again, you're all awesome. Please feel free to review if you feel like it. Thank you!**


	2. Nightmares

**Chapter 2**

_"We should go now," John insisted. The loud, obnoxious bass was pounding in his ears and voices were everywhere. Teenagers were everywhere; unfortunately, John was in the middle of the rather large party. _

_Lucy Morrison turned for a second from the group of people she had been conversing with. _

_"What's wrong?" _

_"Nothing," John said. "I just... it's a bit late. Shouldn't we get going?"_

_"All right."_

_John sighed and held his hand out for his girlfriend to take. They made their way through the tightly packed room and out of the door._

_The air was cool and refreshing. John breathed in and out slowly, relieved that they were finally out of the party full of drunks. He glanced at his watch, feeling more tired when he saw it was very much past midnight. _

_Just when he was about to go back into the house, John saw Harriet - his sister - appear at the front door. _

_"And where are _you_ heading, little guy?" Harriet drawled, leaning against the door frame. Her hair was a mess; John could even swear there was gum stuck in there. It looked like her drink spilled all over her at one point, and the red cup she was clenching had a hole in the bottom. Harriet could barely stand._

_She stumbled and John approached her. _

_"How much did you have?" John asked sternly. "We promised! _You_ promised!" _

_"Well, you can't always keep your promises, Johnny," Harriet laughed. _

_John glanced back at his girlfriend who waited patiently where he had left her before turning back to Harriet._

_"You're supposed to drive us back," John said, attempting to keep his anger hidden. "Right now."_

_"Was I?" _

_"Yes!" John found himself yelling. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath._

_"Woah, there."_

_"Yes. I'm sorry, Harriet. But this is horrible. We have to get back to the school by tonight... Are you listening!?"_

_"Sorry. I have a headache..." _

_"You can take some medicine after you drop us off. Okay?"_

_Harriet was staring to John's left into nothingness, and John had a feeling that his sister was not up to driving. After all, he knew the dangers. This was one of those situations school always warned him about. _

_But there was no other option. They couldn't stay here - not at this place John had no knowledge of whatsoever. John could definitely not drive yet. His girlfriend could not drive._

_And so there was nothing else he could do. _

_"All right!" Harriet said, making John jump "Let's go."_

_Suddenly, John felt a moment of panic. "Er... are you sure you can...?"_

_"Do you want me to drive you back or not?" _

_"Well, I do. But -"_

_"You're coming with me, little bro."_

_"I... just don't think this is..."_

"Nothing is safe._ Now come on!"_

_John winced when Harriet grabbed - or pinched - his arm, dragging him towards her car that was parked on the other side of the road. John took his girlfriend's hand as he was steered._

_Harriet tipped the empty cup upside down for another second and then threw it away. She opened the car door with much difficulty, and finally got into the front seat. _

_"Do you want to sit in the front?" John asked Lucy as he opened the passenger seat's door. _

_"Actually, I don't feel very comfortable with - well, no offense - your sister..."_

_John sighed. "I know."_

_Lucy looked around again, as if trying to look for another way to get back without getting into the car she stood in next to now. John felt a pang of guilt. He brushed it off._

_"I'll sit in the front to keep an eye on Harriet," John insisted, trying to sound comforting. "I'll make sure she's okay. Okay?" He noticed Lucy looking down. _

_"I'd like to be left alone now, please," Lucy said, her voice barely a whisper._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"No."_

_John stared into Lucy's impossibly blue, innocent eyes and brought his hand up to tuck some of her chestnut hair behind her right ear._

_"I'll keep you safe. I promise."_

_Lucy nodded. As John helped her in, he realized she was slightly shaking. _

_"Are you all right?" John asked, deeply concerned. For a moment, he felt like getting her out of the car and spending the night on a park bench. _

_"Yes... I think so."_

_John hesitated once more and then nodded, closing the door. He came around to get into the passenger seat and clicked on his seatbelt. He glanced wearily at Harriet once more and noticed his breathing and heartbeat had quickened in anxiety._

_He said nothing as Harriet fumbled for the car keys. She jammed it into the ignition, the key scratching up a bit before going in._

_She didn't put on her seatbelt. John was too nervous now to remember._

_It seemed like a dream - no, a nightmare - as Harriet slowly drove the car backwards. John closed his eyes as they went onto the road. _

_When he opened his eyes, there was a flash of bright light and then a violent jolt. John felt the seatbelt tighten immediately, nearly choking him. There were noises everywhere, and John could not see or feel anything. There was a scream._

_"John!"_

John awoke with a start, jerking up in bed, breathing heavily. For a moment he was still in panic and closed his eyes, feeling like he was about to be hit.

It seemed like hours until John's breath finally caught up and all his present memories came rushing back to him. He continued to have those same nightmares. The same one over and over again.

The thing that hurt the most was that they were not just nightmares. They were memories.

John took a couple more deep breaths before getting up. He glanced at Mike's bed, seeing he was still asleep. He also looked at the clock and was taken aback to see that it was just past midnight. He had expected it to be morning already.

John walked over to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. After drying off he got into fresh clothes and a sweatshirt and went outside.

He had not told his counselor or anybody about the nightmares. They simply never went away. He was sure people would be able to tell, though. If they did, however, nobody acknowledged it.

Sometimes he just wished everything would stop. He didn't exactly understand what he meant by that. He did not want to die... not really. He did not want to live this life at high school either. It was a feeling in the middle, though, and John could not fully understand it.

Suddenly, John heard voices behind him... two different voices. He was surprised; usually, students weren't allowed to be up this late. If anyone were caught _outside _this late, that was an immediate detention or sometimes suspension. John didn't know - he didn't get caught much.

Still, he turned to see two boys outside a room not too far down from John's. One was tall and slim, the other about average. They were quarreling - that much was obvious.

Then, the simple bickering became more.

First, one of the outlines of a boy shoved the other. Then, more shoves occurred, just like that - with only one boy shoving the other. Soon, the shoves grew even more rough and finally the boy being shoved was punched.

John gasped as the boy hit his head back against the closed dorm door... hard. John could hear the sound of impact echo to where he was standing.

No sound of pain emitted from the boy as he slid down against the wall and onto the ground. At least from what John could hear.

Still, the next thing he knew, John found himself running. Running towards the two boys.

The one standing over the other seemed to have caught sight of him, for he ran off in the other direction.

Running off? So... cowardly.

Finally, John approached the boy on the floor and knelt down.

It was dark; there were no lights in that area - a student had destroyed the only ceiling light with a ball on the first day.

"Are you all right?" John asked the figure next to him. "Are you awake?"

There was no reply, but John could see the boy nod, silent.

"I'm going to get you help-" John began, but stopped when the boy shook his head. And he knew how the boy must be feeling. If John were him, he would insist he was fine.

Just like always.

"Okay," John nodded. "Do you need anything?"

Still no reply.

"All right, then."

Because John couldn't see anything, he brought his hand gently behind the boy's head, just soft enough to feel for any bumps forming.

There was. John sighed, looking around for a teacher... or anyone.

He didn't feel like calling a teacher, however. It would only make matters worse... possibly bring more stress to this boy. The staff would ask many questions and maybe even give both John and the boy detention for being out of the dorms at night.

So John helped the thin, slender boy up instead very carefully and slowly.

"I'm fine."

John hesitated. It was the first words the boy had spoken to him. The voice was low... still just low enough for him to hear.

"Are... are you sure?"

"Obviously."

John, slightly taken aback by such a direct reply, paused again before awkwardly removing his arm from around the boy's shoulders.

He didn't want to leave. He knew he shouldn't. This boy needed him... right?

"No."

"What?" John, confused, looked up.

"No, I don't need you here any longer."

"Well -"

"I'd like to be left alone now, thank you."

John hesitated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

John paused, still not moving an inch.

"No," John finally said firmly. "No... you know what? Stay here. I'll be right back."

"I said I'm fine."

"Then why can't you stand properly?"

John heard the boy scowl but took that as a sort of acceptance. He ran back to his room, keeping an eye on the boy before dashing into the room. He looked around and found the mini refrigerator Mike had brought, to John's relief. He opened it and took out an ice pack.

When he got out again, the hallway was completely empty, and John was alone.

"Er... goodbye, then..." John muttered, still standing on the spot. He felt utterly stupid for leaving the boy alone and somewhat betrayed. Still, there was nothing he could do, and so he shrugged to himself. He went back inside.

_Odd,_ was all John could think as he threw the ice pack onto a counter._ Just plain odd._


	3. A Strange Meeting

**Chapter 3**

The next day, there was an assembly.

John watched, uninterested, as the students filed into the gym. Girls sat off to the side in large groups, and as did the boys. Although many sat together.  
John pondered for a moment whether he should take out his notebook and write in it again. Although with so many people who could easily look over his shoulder, he decided not to. Still, he took the small journal out and rested it on his leg, concealing it with his sleeve.

He never exactly favored assemblies. Although he did not hate them, either. It was just that he would rather spend his time alone and away from the somewhat irritating buzz of the students. Other than the fact that he was in a new school, it still felt as distressing as it would have been.

John's thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a particularly outgoing couple crashed into the seat next to John, lips locked and stuck together as if someone had glued them together.

It was - no doubt - extremely uncomfortable.

"Er..." John muttered. Of course, the buzz of the crowd muffled his voice.

He cleared his throat loudly, expecting the couple to look up.

They did not look up. In fact, they continued their activity even more intense than it had previously been.

"I'll just..." John mumbled as he stood up from his spot in the bleachers, looking around for any spaces. Unfortunately, most of the school had already come in and about all the seats were filled.

Looking back, John realized it was too late. His spot next to the couple had been taken as well.

_Well then,_ John sighed. He stood awkwardly in the center of the crowd.

"Everyone, please take your seats!" A teacher yelled to the students. John looked around wildly.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally spotted a particularly spaced area on the left very corner of the bleachers. He made his way towards it and sat down gratefully, still embarrassed.

John was surprised at how many empty seats surrounded the area he sat now. He only then noticed the boy sitting next to him.

"Hello," John said politely. The boy turned and studied John intently with a sort of piercing glare.

His eyes were a mixture of green, blue, and gray - John could not quite tell. Prominent cheekbones and bowed lips were the features that stood out the most. Dark curls hung slightly over his forehead. John noticed also that the boy was dressed quite nicely. All the other students wore the old, monotonous school uniform. This boy wore a dark, long trench coat on top of the Pravus school's uniform. A blue scarf was wrapped snugly around his neck. Additionally, John could see that he was extremely tall for a seventeen year old. His legs were long and his knees matched the height of his stomach sitting down. Very different compared to John, who met the floor exactly how it was supposed to. At least, that's what he assumed how old he was.

John suddenly realized he was staring and looked down quickly.

An awkward silence hung. Then -

"Rugby or natural?"

John jumped, staring at the boy who had just spoken. His voice was deep; not what John had expected at all.

"I... what do you mean?"

"Your injury. From rugby or an accident?"

Unbelievable.

"Er... I..." John stuttered. "Accident. How did you...?"

"The way you walked while you came over here. You're still limping. Only slightly, of course. Where you broke your left leg. You played rugby. The coach was pointing over to you a few moments ago. Probably heard about your playing and mentioning you as a reminder to himself to ask. Although because you didn't sign up yet, you could possibly be acting careful due to your injury or are just not exactly interested in the sport anymore. You're stressed; the dark circles under your eyes can stress that enough. The way your shoulders sag just a little is evident as well. That is probably not due to rugby, unless you played over the summer, which is not likely. You don't have a tan, so you did not spend the summer out in the sun. Therefore, you either received that injury due to rugby or some other accident."

John gulped, not quite sure what he was feeling at the moment. _Who was this boy? Was he some sort of stalker? Spy?_

"How... could you... possibly know any of that?"

"I didn't know, I saw."

John paused. "I don't know what you mean by that."

The boy gave a sort of sigh and turned, facing the corner again. John waited for a moment more until realizing the conversation was apparently over. So he sat in uncomfortable silence, wishing he had stayed in his previous seat.

A few minutes after the assembly began, he saw - from the corner of his eye - the boy glance at him again.

John felt unusually exposed under his stare.

"What is it?" He asked before he could stop himself.

"Nothing."

He shifted a little, trying to ignore this invading boy, but to no avail. He suddenly felt like standing up and walking to the other side of the room.

He couldn't.

Suddenly John noticed something.

"Hey," John said. The boy turned. "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well... your eye..."

The boy's right eye was swollen and had the shade of a sort of deep purple.

"I'm fine," the boy muttered, turning around again. It was the first time he stopped staring.

John continued to hold his gaze for a moment before sighing and turning back to the front. Although he still had a bad feeling about the boy's eye.

For the next hour and a half, John tried to focus on the words of the teachers and staff. He caught a few things here and there. He didn't remember it was this hard to focus in his past years.

When the bell finally rang, John sprung out of his seat, not looking back as he rushed out of the gym.

...

"Damn it, Holmes! What the hell? Move!"

Sherlock did not look up, but instead continued to look after the boy who had just rushed out of the gym abruptly. He then looked down at the spot the boy had sat and saw a green notebook tucked underneath the bleachers seat, barely visible.

"Hey! Did you not hear me, idiot? What the fuck are you daydreaming about?"

Sherlock ignored the other boys behind him and swiftly picked up the notebook as he jumped down from the bleachers. He tucked it into his trench coat and paced out of the gym, pushing past the other students.

When he was back in his room, he set the notebook on his desk, shoving the papers and other cluttered things off.

He opened the first page.

Indeed, there was writing. Not much, however. Most likely just began.

The writings were short; almost as if they were forced. Unwilling to write? Perhaps the writer was asked to write by a counselor or friend.

The most recent entry was written quickly in a scrawl that was much messier than the previous ones, which had not exactly been careful, just lazy. Sherlock read the title:

A Strange Meeting

I don't know how I'm meant to be writing this. I'm not a writer. Ella thought keeping a journal would help but it hasn't because nothing ever happens to me. But today - or tonight - something did. Something happened.

I met my roommate, Mike Stamford. He's the conservative type; doesn't question where I am or what type of posters I want to put up. He's pretty good.

Anyway, I had more dreams about... it, and wanted to get fresh air. I saw someone getting beaten down the hall. I thought this school was different. Pretty stupid of me. They're all the same.

Suddenly, the door opened and Molly Hooper walked in.

"Hello!" Sherlock heard the girl greet cheerfully behind him. "How was the assembly?"

"Fine," He muttered, still reading over the journal with mild interest. The particular last entry had already ended, but Sherlock continued to look back through the pages anyway. Molly approached and looked over his shoulder.

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing." Sherlock slid the notebook away from Molly's view, covering it with his sleeve.

"Okay." She paused. "I was just checking in and -"

"You were worried about the other boys."

She looks taken aback. Even after all the time she spent with Sherlock, she never seemed to get used to his near-impossible predictions.

"Well, not exactly -"

"I am perfectly fine alone. Those boys have nothing on their mind but their rank and popularity at this school. Some care about their marks, yes; however, most depend on their sports to get them scholarships."

"What about you? Based on what I know, you aren't exactly the studious type around here."

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "I don't need to socialize or have any pointless relationships. All it does is take focus away from one's goals."

"Well, what are your goals?" Molly asked hesitantly.

"Molly, if you are attempting to make conversation once again..."

"No, I'm not. I'm just... wondering."

"Why?"

"Oh, you know. I..." She paused. "Actually, I'm not really sure. Sorry."

"All right."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the dullness and wasted time. He eyed the thin piece of metal that sat on the window sill.

Molly came around and followed his gaze.

"What is that?"

"Blade, obviously."

"Erm... what for?"

"I need to test how quickly bruises form after being cut."

"On who!?" She looked horrified. Sherlock sighed again.

"On me, obviously. Who else?"

"I -" Molly paused nervously. "That's a bit dangerous, don't you think?"

"No."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Molly."

"I really hope you're not hurting yourself... like... on purpose, or anything..."

"It's fine."

She cleared her throat and nodded.

"Okay."

An unusual silence hung in the air and Sherlock looked up to his right. He immediately regretted doing so.

Upon seeing Sherlock's entire face, Molly's eyes widened and she gasped.

"Are you okay!?"

Sherlock looked back down at the journal, not meeting Molly's eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes - you said you were fine!"

"I am fine."

"Someone hurt you again, didn't they!?"

"No."

"I'm going to call Greg."

Sherlock stood up to face her, truly irritated now.

"What for!?"

She looked like she was attempting to get all the courage she had before bursting out, "You need to see the nurse!"

Sherlock looked to the bathroom's ajar door and into the mirror across the room. Indeed, the purple bruise on his eye was more swollen than last night, when he had looked at it while brushing his teeth. And it did ache - every time he blinked, at least.

He shrugged. "Swelling is caused by blood rushing into the specific location in the body where damage has occurred. It's simply white blood cells going along its merry way."

"Can't you at least put ice on it... please?"

Sherlock sighed heavily. "Molly, don't you have somewhere to be?"

She looked irritated but did not push further.

"Fine."

And with that, she left the room.

Sherlock knew she would not drop the subject for a while and sighed at the thought. She wouldn't report him to anyone, would she?

If she did, he was going to be extremely upset. At this school, when people saw someone doing something wrong, they were reported to a teacher or the principal. They were then either given counseling, detention, suspension, or another punishment based on what they did wrong. Sherlock had been reported countless times in the past two years he had been here, and found it one of the biggest wastes of time there could be. He most definitely did not want to be reported again within the first week.

Sherlock sighed, looked back at the journal and sat down at his desk. Slowly, he rolled up his left sleeve and observed the bruises there. He did this for experimenting; plus, it was not like it hurt much anyway. The pain also made him feel more alive and less bored with life. Which was why he hoped Molly wouldn't tell someone like the school counselor. They wouldn't listen to his reasons and automatically assume he were insane - just like everyone else did.

Sherlock then turned to the next page of the journal and wrote down the results of the experiment. He would take out the pages later and maybe even return the journal if he had time.

Because surely the owner of the journal wouldn't mind.


	4. Stay Away from Sherlock Holmes

**Chapter 4**

No.

How could he lose it so fast? It was only the first week and he already lost it. The damn journal had three entries in it. With his initials.

John quickly stood up from the desk, rubbing his temples. Of course he had to lose it. It most certainly was not like his life was stressful enough.

And then it hit him.

_The bleachers._

Suddenly John rushed over to the closet, ripping the jacket off the hanger. He shoved it on as he opened the dorm door.

Soon, he was walking down the hall and by the different classrooms. He passed many students who looked after him but did not care enough to ask him where he was going. Which was good.

Finally, John came into view of the gymnasium and looked around to make sure there were no other teachers around. There were still some people from the assembly that were helping to clean up. He peeked in through the open door and tried to remember where he sat.

Awkwardly, John entered the gym, walking towards the bleachers he was sure he sat at. He looked at the left corner in which he remembered the boy had been sitting.

In a sort of rushing and trying-to-look-casual pace, John approached the corner. He looked under the bleachers and around it. Then, he saw it.

A barely visible shade of green caught John's eye. He took a deep breath and removed it.

John smiled when he found that it was, in fact, his journal. It had been tucked directly where John had been sitting; at least where he remembered he was sitting.

Without hesitating any longer, John jumped down from the bleachers and headed out. He breathed a sigh of relief both at the fact no one stopped him and that his journal was safe in his possession again.

Suddenly, the bell rang and John realized it was lunch time. He tucked the journal under his arm and ran off to collect his backpack from his room.

…

The past days, John did not exactly eat lunch in the lunchroom with the other students. He had taken his time, knowing he would have no one to sit with anyway. He ate as he walked and then went to the library to study or read.

Now, because it was the third day, John decided he would have to get the courage and eat there. It wasn't like he could just avoid it forever.

The lunchroom was not so different from John's old school's lunchroom. It was indoors and a fair size. Various lunch tables were set up in rows with a path down the middle for students to pass. At the end of the cafeteria was the salad bar and food.

As John passed the tables, he made note of what groups seemed to be sitting at each table. Indeed, this school had the cliche groups of students: band geeks, nerds, athletes, and the rest. Even in the uniforms, it was obvious what kind of people sat together.

John approached the lunch line and grabbed a green tray. He waited patiently in the line.

"Haven't seen you around here before."

John turned to see a tall girl with light, blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked at him curiously.

"Oh, yes, hello. I'm John."

"Sarah Sawyer. So what's your story, John?"

"Well. I'm just... nothing. Nothing... really happens to me."

"I'm sure something has happened to you," Sarah smiles. "You seem like a nice guy."

"Oh. Thank you." John replied as he stepped forward as the line moved. He picked up a small tray of fish and chips and milk.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Sarah asked. "If you don't have anyone to sit with?"

John turned and nodded. "Sure... if it's not too much trouble, that is."

"Great!" Sarah smiled again. "We sit over there..." She gestured towards a table close by along the wall.

"Okay. Thanks," John said as he payed for his lunch.

He lifted the tray and got a good look at the table. It was one of the small tables. About five or more people sat there. To his surprise, Mike Stamford was there.

_At least it won't be exactly awkward,_ John sighed in relief as he approached.

"John!" Mike greeted. "Sit down."

John gave a smile as he placed his tray on the seat next to the wall. He sat down.

"Everyone, this is John Watson, my new roommate," Mike introduced.

There were two other girls and one more boy who all looked up.

"Hi," one of them said. She had dark hair and wore a long coat over her uniform. "I'm Sally Donovan."

John nodded. "Hello."

"Clara. Nice to meet you," A nice-looking girl smiled.

"Hi, Clara."

"You know, the fish and chips aren't exactly good," the last boy noted, looking at John's tray. "They don't have much time - not to mention they're all lazy - so it's still frozen in the middle."

"Shut up, Anderson. He can eat whatever he wants," Sarah said as she sat down. She turned to John. "No, but really. I'd suggest the pasta or salad."

John nodded and suddenly did not feel like eating anymore.

"What's that?"

John looked up to see everyone staring at his notebook, which now sat in the place beside him.

"Oh, nothing," John said, picking it up and hiding it from sight. "Just... notes."

"You take your notes in a notebook?" Anderson asked.

"You sound like an idiot," Sarah laughed. "Some people take notes in their notebooks. Most, actually."

"I only do notes in binder paper."

"Doesn't mean everyone does."

John laughed along nervously. Although truthfully, he was feeling quite relieved that he now had a place to sit.

"How's Erin doing?" Clara asked Anderson.

"Fine," he muttered, looking down. "She's just a bit sick, that's all."

"How long has it been? Haven't seen her ever since school started!" Sally said.

Anderson shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Do you know what _your_ boyfriend is doing right now?"

Sally held her gaze with Anderson for a moment before narrowing her eyes and looking away.

"No," she said. "I suppose not."

There was an uncomfortable silence, which gave John just a little time to think. He was relieved to know that he could tolerate these people. It wasn't that he was very focused on ranks in school. He just didn't want to stand out. Of course - he didn't think anybody ever wanted to stand out.

"Anyway... you know what I heard?" Sally suddenly said, changing the subject.

"What?" Sarah asked curiously.

"Well, guess who got reported today?"

"Just tell us," Anderson rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Anderson groaned. "Fucking douche still pisses me off. Three years in a row. That's got to be a record."

"Why?" John asked.

"He's the biggest freak you will ever meet," Anderson said, his tone of pure hatred. "He gives you one glance and knows what you got on your Science test. Guy's a fucking stalker, if you ask me."

Suddenly, John felt nervous again. The description sounded uncannily familiar.

"Speaking of..." Sally brought her voice lower. Everyone stared at the entrance and John turned to follow their gaze.

It was a boy. No - it was _the_ boy... the one John had sat next to in the bleachers during the assembly. He still wore the same long, dark trench coat and blue scarf. He let his gaze sweep over the room before moving to sit in the farthest, most isolated corner in the back.

"Sorry - who is that again?"

"The guy we were just talking about...?" Sarah replied, confused. "Sherlock Holmes..."

John turned around and stared at the boy again. "_That's_ Sherlock Holmes?"

Everyone nodded, looking at John suspiciously. _"Yes!"_

The boy - Holmes - was now bent over something on the table - probably writing. John opened the milk carton and started drinking it to have something else to do other than stare.

"What happened to his eye?" Sarah asked suddenly.

Anderson smirked. "I hit him."

John almost choked on his drink.

"When?" Mike asked.

"On the first day of school. Really late," Anderson said somewhat defiantly.

John stared.

"Why would you do that?" John found the question having slipped before he could stop it. Sally, Mike, and Clara looked at him curiously.

"Why would I do that?" Anderson repeated, almost laughing as if it were so obvious. "No one wants him here! Belongs somewhere else. The only thing he does in this school is give it bad luck and make everyone paranoid."

"Why does he do those things then?"

"Because he's a psychopath," said Sally. "Psychopaths get bored."

John felt a sort of conflicted guilt as he looked back at Holmes. Every school had fights. John's previous schools had had too many. He was disappointed to know that this school was no different, even with this apparently psychopathic boy.

Suddenly, he thought of something.

"I'll be right back," John muttered, standing up.

"Lunch has just started, mate!" Mike insisted.

"I just need to... wash my hands. I'll be right back."

John passed quickly through the room, not looking at Holmes.

Instead, he looked around, attempting to remember the map he had recently attempted to memorize. He paced down the hall and came to the restroom.

As soon as he was inside, he went to the first stall and locked it. Finally, he opened the notebook.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his writing was still there. The relief was short-lived, however, when he saw a crease in the spine.

He looked at it, an intense curiosity now blooming. He traced the crease with his finger and followed it to the pages. He then took a breath and opened the notebook where the crease met the pages.

About two pages had been ripped out. Roughly, too, as if the writer did not have much time or did not care at all if he were caught for using the notebook.

John felt his heart beating hard in his chest now. He took deep breaths and rubbed his forehead. Finally, he unlocked the stall and walked out of the restroom.

When John came back to the table, everyone was having an argument whether a certain test was hard or not. They all stopped abruptly when John sat down again.

"You all right?" Mike asked.

"Me? Yeah, fine. Good," John stuttered.

"You look like you're about to puke," Anderson said thoughtfully.

"It's nothing."

The entire table continued to stare at him before they all shrugged and went back to talking about tests. John lifted his head to look at the table in the far corner once more.

He stared at the boy with the long coat.

Could it really be that Holmes had read his journal? What did he think of him now? What did he write in those two pages that had been ripped out?

Holmes was rumoured to be weirdly psychic. John even thought so too. Which proved that Holmes was not stupid. So why did he make it so obvious he had seen John's journal? If it were John who found something like that, he would have spent hours trying to make it look like it had been before he was in possession of it.

Suddenly, the bell rang and everyone stood up to go. John tucked the journal under his arm again, muttering several "goodbyes" to his new friends as he stood up.

As he was throwing away his tray, John was approached by Sally.

"Here's some advice," she said. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

John said nothing more but nodded, more than ready to get out of there. He rushed out of the room and could somewhat feel Sherlock Holmes staring after him, knowing everything that had just happened once again. Somehow.


	5. Concern

**Chapter 5**

Perhaps he should get his own journal. It would make sense, with all the notes that must be taken for experiments and boredom. It would also be much more organized than the countless papers lying all over his room.

Sherlock tapped his pencil against the desk, watching the clock intently. English was his worst subject, mostly because it was the most boring and pointless one to him.

As the teacher lectured on, Sherlock glanced over at the other students. Almost all were texting under their desks or whispering to each other. Most of them were planning when to meet up or what to do for the next dance that was coming up. Sherlock could tell because all they did was point to others and whispering, most likely pointing out who they wanted to go with for the dances. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

Out of boredom once more, his gaze fell upon Anderson up in front. The most absolute biggest jerk in the entire school - Sherlock was sure of it.

True, Sherlock was harassed by the entire school, but Anderson was the one who stood out because he was so utterly stupid that it made Sherlock want to destroy the classroom. Anderson had the worst opinions and got into fights to prove how "tough" he was. It was tedious.

The bell rang and Sherlock picked up his backpack. He swiftly walked out of the room.

Suddenly, someone touched Sherlock's shoulder. He spun around, irritated.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked automatically. He calmed down when he noticed it was simply Lestrade.

"Sorry," Lestrade said. "It's just that... well, I need you to come with me."

"Why? I do have class, you know," Sherlock said, turning slightly again.

"Stop - please. The office told me to fetch you."

Of course. The only other person Sherlock would at least listen to a little.

Lestrade was a part of the student council and a participant in many of the school's activities. Many of the students respected him, and so they were extremely surprised when it was discovered that Lestrade hung out with Sherlock. In fact, Lestrade had quit his position in the student council in his second year because Sherlock was taking up too much of his time already.

True, it didn't count much as "hanging out" considering all he really did was make sure Sherlock didn't do anything harmful enough to kill himself or burn the whole school down. Basically, Lestrade simply looked out for Sherlock, whether it was because he thought he needed to or because he thought Sherlock would lose himself again if no one was there.

Of course, none of this changed the way Sherlock treated Lestrade. He sighed, still not quite facing him all the way.

"What for?" he finally asked.

"Well, er..." Lestrade looked uncomfortable. Sherlock eyed the phone that was still being held. It was on and displayed several messages.

"What did Molly tell you?"

Lestrade's eyes widened and he attempted to cover up but ended up stuttering.

"Well... she didn't... I didn't... nothing -"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You are a terrible liar." He turned and started walking in the direction of his next class.

"Sherlock - wait!" Sherlock heard Lestrade running after him. He didn't stop.

"Tell the office I'm busy."

The bell rang and Sherlock sighed, knowing he would be late again.

_Oh, well._

As Sherlock entered the classroom he was stopped by his History teacher.

"Late again, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock heard the class start snickering. He rolled his eyes.

_Idiots._

"I'm going to have to write you up," Mr. Jacques informed.

Sherlock ignored him and began to walk towards his seat in the back of the class. He saw someone's leg sticking out from one of the desks that was meant to trip him and so he stepped over it. Unfortunately, someone else gave his backpack a rough shove from behind and Sherlock stumbled forward into his desk, his stomach digging into the edge. He rubbed the sore spot momentarily after straightening up, although not long enough for anyone to see him do so. He routinely ignored the students giving each other smiles.

"Anyway," Mr. Jacques said before rambling again. Sherlock slouched in his seat and sighed.

After a few minutes, the classroom's phone rang and the teacher walked over to pick it up.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. I'll send him over now."

Sherlock noticed the one-second glance the teacher gave him and exhaled heavily.

"Holmes?" Mr. Jacques called. Sherlock watched with disinterest as the entire class looked back at him.

"What'd you do now?" a student taunted. "Forgot your brain jar in Science?"

"All right, everyone! Let's stay focused," said the teacher. He turned to Sherlock again and gestured towards the exit. "Holmes - go to the office now, please."

Sherlock slowly stood up, annoyed. He walked out of the classroom and towards the office.

When he arrived there he entered reluctantly, not sitting down on the chairs set up along the wall. The receptionist looked up with an automatic smile and sighed when she saw who it was.

"Did something we weren't supposed to again, did we?" she said, looking back down at her work.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored her completely. Suddenly, another door off to the right side opened and a woman approached Sherlock.

"Hello, Sherlock," she said. Sherlock glanced at Dr. Ella Thompson, his counselor. He was definitely not going to forgive Molly this time.

"Hello," he muttered.

"It's been awhile since we've had an appointment," she said, opening her office door and gesturing inside. "How was your summer?"

"Fine." Sherlock entered the small room.

The counselor sat at her desk and pointed towards the chair in front of the desk.

"You can sit, if you'd like," she said.

Sherlock sat down.

"So. Someone has informed us you've been having even more certain... problems here."

_Damn it, Molly. _

"We should begin with catching up on things. How have you been doing?"

"Fine," Sherlock said again.

"Have you been trying your best to improve over the summer?" Thompson asked.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Back to the newer problems... does it have something to do with school or class?"

Sherlock sighed. "It really is not important."

"Oh. It seems important. May I ask... where did you get that bruise on your eye?"

"Nowhere."

The counselor laughed. "I'm sure bruises don't simply appear when you wake up, right?"

"Obviously."

"Then are you comfortable with telling me where it's from? Was it possibly from another person again?"

"I'm not comfortable having this talk right now. I'd like to return to my classes, thank you."

Thompson paused, glancing at the door. Then, she turned back to Sherlock.

"This is your third year here, and there has still been no progress. Not from what I see. I know how stubborn you are, but if this continues, I don't think even your brother can get you out of anything anymore. We've been postponing these types of talks much too long."

"It depends what exactly you're referring to."

The counselor sighed. "You know exactly what I am referring to. If I must specify, it's everything that we have been talking about since I met you... if that's still going on - which I have the slightest feeling it is - we're going to have a problem."

Sherlock simply shrugged again, looking down at a spot on the ground.

"We are having another appointment soon," Thompson said. "Many students have reported you already and the school year has barely even started. Remember: We want to help you."

"I'm fine."

"Okay," Thompson nodded. "We'll talk more when it's a better time."

Sherlock sighed as he exited. He pushed the office door open and walked straight back to the building where his room was. He had no desire to return to his dull History class. Perhaps he could begin another experiment later.

He opened the door to his room when he got there and suddenly felt extra thankful that his brother had sorted the whole roommate problem out. He didn't like to admit it, but it was one of the things he appreciated. He simply could not imagine sharing a room with anybody in a million years. Much less interact with anybody.

Sherlock decided to take out his violin. After all, there was nobody in the rooms at the moment.

He carefully fitted his shoulder rest and tightened his bow. Then, from memory, he began to play some of the melodies that had been etched into his mind over the years.

As the bow glided smoothly over the strings, Sherlock closed his eyes. He loved the violin - it was another escape; another cure for his boredom. He wished he had more time to play. Many students had complained about his playing past midnight and so he had been banned to play until classes officially started. Which was a stupid rule, since obviously he was not at his room at the time. Only at a time like this, he was at peace.

Always by himself. It was something he could feel relaxed with because he had no burdens of a social life or going to parties.

Sherlock smirked at the thought of doing anything at school other than learning, studying, playing the violin, or experimenting. What else could be more important than those things?

And with that thought in mind, Sherlock savored the moment of being alone. One of the best feelings in the world, and one Sherlock was sure no other feeling could beat.


	6. Must Be the Truth

**Chapter 6**

John was truly beginning to feel like he was lost in this school. Even though it was only the beginning of the year, he knew it didn't take this long to adjust. He should have kept his friends and stuck with it. Instead, he was looking out for the boy with the dark curls and long trench coat every waking moment. Even during the night.

Soon, John began to dream of Sherlock Holmes. The first time, he had been up thinking non-stop about him. In the dream, John saw Holmes bloody, covered in bruises, starved, and nearly dead with a long needle in his hand. John wanted to help him, but he couldn't, and it was horrible. There was something keeping him from going to Holmes and somewhat saving him from whatever it was harming him. John woke up terrified and confused, the violent image staying permanent and clear in his mind for the rest of the day.

The second time was after John drifted off while attempting to study. He was closer to Sherlock this time, with a sort of warm, familiar feeling. Closer both physically and mentally. On John's bed.

Sherlock was beneath him, completely naked and looking at John like he was the center of his universe. Hot, new emotions were being resurfaced from so long ago. John had felt like nothing else in the world mattered except for the boy beneath him, and he had gazed down hungrily before bending down and bringing his lips down upon Sherlock's.

The dreams had varied, but were never as vivid as the two first ones, which John never stopped thinking about afterwards. Still, they were all about the same subject.

They confused him beyond belief. The first had caused him to feel fear, which was typical. Anyone in harm brought a sense of dread upon John. It was natural.

The second, however, was like a forever-nagging thought in John's brain. Never in his life had he dreamt about something like that. Sure, he had thought about attraction to the same sex in his earlier teenage years, as everyone did. At least he thought everyone did. But with so much detail... never.

John thought hard about this as he stood at the entrance of the lunchroom for the hundredth time that week. Holmes hadn't showed up at lunch at all yet, but John wasn't going to give up now. He had put it off too long. He had to at least speak to the boy and have the knowledge that he was just another classmate. Maybe it will help the dreams go away.

John's thoughts were broken when Sarah came into view and waved. John gave a small smile back as she approached him.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, moving to stand next to him.

"Fine, I guess."

"Finally settled opinions on about everyone yet?"

"Except for a few," he said.

"Well, I'd better get going. Meet you at our table again? If you're not waiting for anyone, that is..." Sarah looked around, wondering why John was standing at the doorway in the first place. She had assumed he was waiting for the lunch line to clear up, but as it became more consistent she became more suspicious.

"Yeah, no. I'll just... be there in a minute."

"Okay," Sarah smiled once more before heading to the back of the cafeteria for the food. As soon as John was alone, he looked once more around the hallway and then back at the lunch tables.

When he turned back to the hallway a few moments later he jumped.

"Jesus!" John felt his heart leap out of his chest. Sherlock Holmes stared coolly down at him.

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" the boy muttered, his low voice nearly inaudible.

John was still so surprised that he took a moment to realize he was being spoken to. He took a quick breath.

"Yeah, sorry - you're Sherlock Holmes, right? I didn't quite catch your name when we met," he said, clearing his throat.

"We didn't meet. You sat in the vacant seat next to me during an assembly." Holmes didn't answer clearly but John knew anyway. Of course, he had for a while.

"I'm John Watson, by the way," he tried again, bringing his hand out to shake.

"I know." Holmes didn't take it and John awkwardly let his hand fall to his side.

_This is more difficult than I thought it would be,_ John sighed to himself.

"Why?"

John looked up. "Why... what?"

"Why are you attempting to speak to me? Is someone forcing you to? Utterly ridiculous, your little dares."

"Forcing? No - no one is forcing me to talk to you. Why would you even think that?"

"Why are you even here?"

"I..." John frowned, suddenly unsure about everything. This encounter was not going the way he wanted it to at all. Instead, he sighed. "Right - Mr. Sherlock Holmes with the massive intellect. Sorry I didn't remember."

Holmes scowled and glared down. John suddenly realized how much taller Holmes was compared to him. Still, he stood his ground.

"You don't seem to understand. There's a reason I don't waste my time interacting with you or anyone else. It would be best if you go back to your 'group' and stay there."

John stared in disbelief. Finally, he took another breath.

"One of these days, you're going to need someone there for you..."

"I don't need anyone."

"...Whether it's friends, or -"

"I don't have friends."

John sighed impatiently, crossing his arms.

"I wonder why," he said flatly, stepping out of the way to let Holmes pass. For a moment, John thought he was going to speak again, as he hesitated. Then, he continued to walk and John followed not too long after.

"What was that all about?" Mike asked as John took his seat at the table.

"Just Sherlock Holmes being a dick," John shrugged. He could tell everyone at the table was looking at him suspiciously, but he didn't care. In fact, he was beginning to care less and less about anything more.

"Were you trying to talk to him? Won't work," Clara noted. "It's like talking to a wall."

"I know," John said as he glanced back. "I don't know who would be crazy enough to stick with that guy."

Although he didn't admit that a part of him wasn't giving up.

...

When the last bell rang, Sherlock dashed out of the classroom as always. The only difference was that today felt a little more boring than usual.

As he approached the door to his room he realized there was absolutely nothing to do. He always did his homework early, usually right when he got it simply to get it out of the way. Otherwise he didn't do the assignment at all. There was no point anyway, and there were other things that he could be doing that would actually entertain himself.

Sherlock paused as he was about to enter the room and turned around.

John Watson stood behind him, staring with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What do you want now!?" Sherlock demanded, annoyed. He could have sworn he told the same boy to leave him alone already.

"I was just..." Watson hesitated. Then, he unzipped his backpack and took out a green notebook. He looked up after re-zipping his backpack.

"I want you to have this."

Sherlock stared, unsure of how to react. "What?"

"Well, I just thought you might need it for something. I was done with it, and -"

"What would make you think I need it? I don't even know you."

Watson stopped talking abruptly, and Sherlock could tell he was thinking of a reply. Still, he knew exactly what was going on. John Watson had realized he had found and read the notebook and now he was attempting to show him he knew. Either to throw him off or surprise him. _Well,_ Sherlock thought._ T__wo could play at this game._

"Well, thank you, but I don't think your counselor would appreciate it very much," Sherlock said with a smirk.

John's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something.

Suddenly, there was a shrill scream and Sherlock looked up abruptly. Other students around looked as well.

Sherlock immediately set out towards Molly Hooper's room.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock heard John call from behind. He didn't reply and hoped the boy would give up and leave. Unfortunately, he heard footsteps following behind him.

When Sherlock finally got to Molly's room, a crowd had already formed. Sherlock pushed through everyone and got into the room, where Molly sat next to a group of girls as she cried. Sherlock walked over to her, and some of the girls moved away.

Upon seeing Sherlock, Molly stood up and it looked as if she wanted to fling her arms around him. She knew better, however, and stayed put. Still, she was shaking and wiping tears from her eyes.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry," Molly apologized. Sherlock didn't quite understand what she was apologizing for but nodded anyway.

"What's happened?" Sherlock and John said at the same time. Sherlock threw John an irritated look before turning back to Molly.

"Well, I just came back from my class, and..."

She didn't have a chance to finish as Sherlock turned around to see a girl's body lying still on the ground of the open bathroom. Most of the students didn't dare go close to the body anyway so Sherlock didn't have too much trouble approaching it.

He bent down and immediately rested his right hand against the girl's neck, where her pulse thrummed softly in quick beats.

Sherlock wanted to turn the body over but knew he wouldn't have enough time - plus, some of the students might blab about him doing so. So instead, he brushed the girl's long blonde hair away to look underneath her mouth.

Finally, he checked her body for any wounds or cuts. That was the only things he had time to do before he was roughly grabbed by the collar.

Sherlock felt himself be roughly shoved back by a teacher and he jerked himself from their grasp, straightening up.

"What's going on here?" the teacher asked, staring at Sherlock with a mixture of disbelief and caution. Sherlock attempted to remember the new teacher's name for a second but his disinterest was stronger and so he decided to continue not to care.

"Holmes killed Colette!"

Sherlock turned to glare at the boy who had spoken, Joey. Joey was the second biggest jerk in Sherlock's book. He was a tall, muscular, dark-skinned rugby player who was almost as irritable as Anderson because he specifically targeted Sherlock - if not other students he didn't approve of - every possible moment.

"I didn't kill her, you idiot," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you had at least had the energy to think, you would know I arrived much after most of the students that are here now."

"I saw him!" Joey told the teachers, still pointing at Sherlock. "He was right there. Probably used her for one of his fucking weird experiments or something, just like last time when -"

"Oh, do shut up!" Sherlock found himself getting more irritated by the second. "Your stupidity is overwhelming all of us already!"

"He didn't," John said quietly, moving hesitantly to stand next to Sherlock. "I was talking to him a few moments ago. He wasn't anywhere near this room."

Sherlock stared in disbelief at John. Joey did as well - and even kept quiet this time. Joey seemed to somewhat respect John just a bit more, as the coach introduced the two before John informed of his injury and inability to play. Sherlock smirked at Joey for being stood up to. After all, it was extremely rare.

"All right, boys, please," the teacher said, making sure to put his arm in front of Joey to create a barrier. Everyone - even the new teacher, apparently - knew the rugby captain was extremely violent and got into fights with about everyone he passed. "I want everyone to remain calm and one person to explain what is happening here."

About every student opened their mouths and began talking.

"No - only Molly Hooper may tell me. Everyone except Molly must return to their rooms right now. Is that clear?"

There were mutters and some disagreements but the crowd began to move out anyway. Sherlock noticed Joey still staring at him menacingly and Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Joey, Sherlock - that means you two as well -"

"No," Molly interrupted. "Sherlock can help us."

"John's staying as well," Sherlock stated. John stared at Sherlock in confusion.

"Mr. Holmes, he has nothing to do with this -"

"He's with me."

"You aren't even allowed to be in here in the first place -"

"I said_ he's with me."_

The teacher sighed and finally nodded.

"Joey, please return to your room."

"This is bullshit!"

_"Language."_

Joey stalked out of the room, giving one more murdering look at Sherlock before slamming the door behind him.

"That was pretty... rough," Molly smiled nervously. Sherlock sighed and Molly realized it wasn't the time to try and talk now.

"What happened?" the teacher asked again.

"The girl - Molly's roommate - was discovered unconscious..."

"I'm asking Molly, Mr. Holmes -"

"No, he's right so far," Molly insisted. "He's always right."

The teacher shrugged. "Continue, then, if you will."

Sherlock smirked. "Thank you, Molly. All right... first of all, I didn't kill her, which is obvious enough. In fact, she isn't dead, because I took her pulse. It was most likely due to either pill suffocation or overdose."

"Where'd you get pills from?" one of the teachers asked.

Sherlock grinned in a sort of mischievous way and bent down once more next to the body. He looked up at Watson.

"Think you can guess?"

John glanced up in surprise at being given attention. He met eyes with Sherlock for a second before bending down in front of him. He put one arm around the girl's body and slipped his hand into her jacket pocket. He took out the contents.

In his hand were two red pills. He handed them hesitantly to Sherlock, who observed it with interest. Suddenly, he licked one.

Some of the teachers stepped forward, most likely thinking about knocking the pills out of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock paused, thinking as he tasted.

"Ah," he said. "Daily pills. Over-the-counter."

Sherlock could tell some were about to ask how he got that but he continued to talk before he was interrupted.

"Not to mention the pill cabinet is open. Also, she seemed to believe she was extremely forgettable and so brought three or more pills, not just one, in her pocket to take during school hours. Perhaps she took it as she came into the room after her class. There's no glass of water, so I think she swallowed the pills by itself, leading to either pill suffocation or overdose. It can be both... overdose if she was able to swallow the pills. Either way, it's one of them."

"Fantastic!"

Sherlock looked up at John Watson, who was looking at him, astonished. Sherlock looked back at him questioningly, and John smiled.

"Sorry. It was just... you... that was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary."

"You... think so?"

"Of course!"

Sherlock continued to stare at John, almost speechless for the first time in a very long while. He finally blinked and said, "That's not what people normally say."

"Well, what do people normally say?"

"Piss off," Sherlock found himself almost half-smiling now.

One of the teachers - the one whose name Sherlock couldn't remember - cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You can leave this to the adults now."

Molly looked confused. "He just explained the entire thing! Aren't you going to listen to him...?"

"We will all put his assumptions into consideration."

"Deductions."

Everyone looked up.

"Deductions," Sherlock repeated. "I deduced everything, as some of you may already know from previous experience with me. Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the -"

Suddenly, the intercom sounded and an announcement about staying inside rooms, remaining calm, and everything being okay was mentioned.

More adults entered the room and two lead Molly, John, and Sherlock outside. Before the two could protest anymore the door was closed and secured. Molly turned to Sherlock after a few moments.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything."

Sherlock nodded as he watched Molly walk towards the office.

"That was... interesting," John said.

"Quite."

Sherlock turned to walk back to his room without another word. He noticed John didn't follow him then. He slipped the red pills that he had still been holding into his pocket as he thought about the boy who had acted so differently.


	7. Parties and Punches

**Chapter 7**

"John!"

John broke his gaze from the boy walking away and turned around to see Sarah walking up to him. She smiled.

"Hi."

"Hello," John said hesitantly.

"I just wanted to ask you... erm..." She paused. "...if you would like to..."

"Yes?"

"Would like to go to Sally's party with me."

John's smile fell and Sarah noticed.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. It's just... I can't really explain."

"It's okay - I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to."

"I don't really go to parties, that's all," John muttered. "But..." He stopped, thinking.

"I'll go," John decided. "I'll go with you."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"Really?"

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you," she smiled.

John nodded. "Don't mention it."

Sarah paused at the door as she was about to leave. "Careful when you're walking back to your room. It's a bit crowded."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I heard that you were there... in the girl's room."

He did not want to talk about this now. His mind was still on Sherlock Holmes - something that quite irritated him - and he didn't exactly feel like confirming or denying any pointless gossip or rumours.

"Sorry. I have to get going... see you later," John gave a small smile to Sarah before moving past and out of the classroom. He didn't want to think about Sherlock Holmes or anything else right now. All he wanted to do was attend the normal party then leave.

…

The music could barely be made out due to the pounding of the bass. John stayed along the back wall to avoid the crowd. He waited patiently for Sarah.

It felt like years since John had gone to parties as a routine. Especially in some building on the campus that John couldn't name. The overall feeling used to feel thrilling and exciting, as they were teenagers and they could do whatever they wanted. Now, it made John feel nervous and uncomfortable.

He leaned against the wall, watching the many different students standing around, dancing, and drinking. It wasn't exactly the kind of party that had people stumbling and falling all over the place. Not yet, at least.

John sighed, looking around for Sarah again. She was standing with a couple of her friends. When her eyes met John's, Sarah smiled and waved. Her friends turned to see him waving back and all began to whisper and point at John. It made him feel awkward, so he decided to take a walk around the house.

He walked upstairs, as it was quieter there. He also assumed there was no one there.

John spotted the bathroom and quickly locked it behind him. He turned on the faucet and let it run for a while before splashing cold water on his face. He wondered what he had been thinking when he decided to attend this party. All it did was make him feel extremely uncomfortable and somewhat hurt. He couldn't quite understand the feeling... perhaps it was the atmosphere of the students and their drinks. He couldn't help but feeling there was something wrong. Ever since that night, his views on almost everything about school and friends changed.

After a few more moments, he wiped his face on his sleeve as he opened the door. He felt a bit reluctant to go back downstairs so when he did go down, he paused at the entrance.

He spotted Sarah close by and called to her.

"Sarah!"

She turned. "Yes?"

"I'm just going to go out and get some fresh air. You can stay here if you want."

She nodded. "Okay!"

John hesitated. After he was sure she did not care much at all about what he did, John opened the door and stepped out of the building.

It was quieter outside, to John's relief. Other than the bass that could be heard from inside the walls, there was no other sound. He looked around at the still-unfamiliar area and walked around to the back.

He wondered how long it would be before things really changed. Something always changed in schools, whether it was a bad teacher or someone who didn't like you and decided to pick on you for the rest of the year. Perhaps nothing was supposed to change for him... it surely did not seem like anything would happen at this point. The only time anything had really happened was when John had seen Anderson beating up Holmes. Other than that, absolutely nothing.

_Is this a good thing?_ John could not help but wonder. Being a nobody - just another person in the background of other students' lives. The one in the hall that passed by and went to the different classes without anyone even knowing his name. _Was it Jack?_ They would wonder as he would pass. _Oh, well. He's nobody anyway._

Maybe this could work. If he just stayed out of everyone's way and got good grades, this year could not be as bad as his past years in experience had been.

Of course, John had expected to think too soon.

As he rounded a corner he began to hear shuffling. He squinted in the dark and saw two figures, pressing against each other in a sort of embrace. John heard their voices and immediately felt awkward, almost turning to leave. Unfortunately, he nearly tripped with his hurrying and saw the two shadows look up abruptly. John could feel blood rushing to his face.

One of the figures - the male - approached John and came into the light. John's eyes widened when he recognized him.

"Anderson?"

John looked at the other figure who stayed behind but was now recognizable even in the shadow of the building.

"Sally? What are you...?"

Suddenly, everything seemed to click in John's head and he stepped back in disbelief.

"Watson..." Anderson took a cautious step forward. "It's not what it looks like, I swear -"

"No, shut up for a second," John said. "Sally? How could you do this?"

Sally looked down and crossed her arms. She did not reply.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Anderson muttered, walking to another shadowed corner. He looked around once more before bringing his voice low enough for John to hear.

"You can't tell anyone."

"Can't tell anyone what? That you're cheating on your girlfriend with Sally!?"

"Yes."

John almost felt like laughing. The whole situation was so ridiculous and it was one he most certainly regretted getting involved in.

"Why?" The question came out before John could stop it. He had just met Anderson and Sally, yet he already felt like it was his responsibility to make sure they didn't do wrong. John could not consider the two as his friends... especially not after this.

"You don't understand," Anderson insisted. "Erin and I have been together for years. If she finds out about this, I don't know what she'll do to me..."

"That's your own fault, though, isn't it?" John was truly beginning to feel irritated now. He felt like he was asking to keep a sick secret or else the other person will get harmed. Which, technically, was exactly what it was.

"You're not going to listen to me, are you?" Anderson rubbed his forehead, looking a bit overly-stressed now. "Look. I'll make a deal. You don't tell my girlfriend about this, and I'll keep your back for the rest of the year."

"What the hell are you on about!?" John narrowed his eyes.

"Well, at this school, it's quite difficult to... fit in," Anderson shrugged. "I know a lot of people. We can make sure you have the best years of your high school life here..."

John paused. "As long as I don't tell anyone."

"As long as you don't tell anyone," Anderson nodded.

John took a deep breath, crossing his arms.

"You're right."

Anderson sighed in relief. "Thanks."

"No, hold on - you're right that I won't listen to you."

Anderson's face fell and his expression immediately turned into anger. He looked down at John in a menacing glare.

"You wouldn't dare," he said, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

John did not even flinch or step back. "You brought this on yourself."

With that, he slipped away and out of the corner. He passed Sally without looking at her.

He continued to walk while looking straight forward, attempting to keep his pace. Unfortunately, he didn't think he was doing a very good job.

He wanted nothing more than to be out of the area entirely, and each thought of the situation made him want to burst into a sprint away.

"Watson!" John heard Anderson yell from behind him. He wasn't sure if Anderson was following him or not - he just wanted to keep going.

Finally, John came back into the building. He hoped to get lost in the crowd.

He backed up into a few people, excusing himself several times. Other students began to stare at him, most likely wondering why he looked so nervous and what he was attempting to do.

The entrance to the building opened again and Anderson and Sally came into view. John saw Anderson's eyes fall on him and John turned to continue getting away from there.

As he moved through the crowd, John suddenly realized he might have to fight Anderson here. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. It was the first party he went to at this school and already he was in trouble. He could probably beat Anderson without a struggle, but that would cause more attention to be diverted to himself. People would begin to talk about him in the hallways, and he might even get detentions or suspension if the news traveled to the teachers.

Because he was thinking too hard, John found himself trapped. There was no other exit close by, and there were students still everywhere. He groaned in frustration, looking wildly around for even a window.

"Hey!"

John turned reluctantly around to face Anderson.

"Just let it go," John insisted.

Some other students began to turn around to face the two boys. Some stood still to watch.

Anderson suddenly realized the attention now but tried to ignore it.

"I don't want any trouble," Anderson said in a warning tone. "I just want you to promise me."

"I'm not going to lie for you."

Anderson sighed again. "Well, then I have no choice but to force you to."

_Here it comes,_ John thought to himself. He felt his muscles tense and tried to relax.

Anderson stepped forward suddenly and pulled his fist back. On instinct, John moved out of the way.

It all happened so fast. John brought his fist back as well and closed his eyes before punching Anderson right on the nose and by the eyes. John felt the impact and clutched his hand after. He wasn't a fighter. In fact, he hated fighting as a whole. If he knew before that he would be getting into something like this on the first week of school, John would have laughed.

He suddenly realized that it had suddenly become eerily quiet. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling a sinking feeling when he found everyone at the party staring at him. Some stared in disbelief while others were surprised in a positive sort of way. John could tell most were conflicted whether to help out Anderson, who sat on the floor now, clutching his nose. John could see a lot of blood on Anderson's hands and face.

Without another thought or word, John shoved himself through the crowd with great difficulty. He was halfway when someone grabbed his shoulder.

He flinched away but turned to see Sarah looking at him. To his surprise, her eyes seemed kind and not angry. John let out all the breath he had been holding without noticing.

"John," she said in a pleading tone. "Are you okay?"

John felt paralyzed for a moment before speaking.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "Not really."

"Anderson's a jerk," she said. "He deserved it."

John shook his head, beginning to back away again. "No," he muttered.

Sarah didn't say anymore and so John went straight out of the building, not glancing back even once.

He couldn't help realizing that this moment was when things changed.


	8. Invasion

**Chapter 8**

There was a knock at the door but Sherlock ignored it. Instead, he continued to look at the pills through his old magnifying glass and scribbled notes down rapidly on a piece of paper.

Sherlock heard more knocks.

"Shut up!" he yelled before returning to his work.

He sighed when he heard the sound of a key being fitted into the lock of the door. He slipped the pills back into his pocket and crumpled up the notes before tossing it into a pile of paper in the corner.

The door opened just after Sherlock sat down with a book open on his lap.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade could be heard behind him. Sherlock continued to ignore the intruders and pretended like he was reading the words on the pages.

"Search around," someone said. _That_ made Sherlock turn around.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Sort of like a drug's bust, I suppose..." Lestrade muttered.

"Last time I checked, this school prides itself in giving full privacy to its students," Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Not when it involves something illegal," another investigator said. "We've been informed you've taken some pills from Molly Hooper's room. The police need all the evidence. We're not sure if this was an accident, but we absolutely must make sure. If you don't mind -"

"I do mind... a lot, actually," Sherlock crossed his arms. "I didn't take anything. I don't even take drugs!"

Lestrade opened his mouth but closed it when Sherlock shot him a warning glance.

"We just need to check a little more... for your safety," the teacher said again. With that, they continued to search around. Fortunately, not exactly through his things, but just looking.

"What's this?" a student asked, holding up a jar containing something that looked suspiciously alike to hearts.

"It's for an experiment!" Sherlock protested.

"It was in the bathtub..."

"Just put it down! All right... everybody shut up! Just shut up!"

"Do you need to wait outside, Mr. Holmes?" the investigator asked after a few moments.

"I want everyone to get the hell out of my room!" Sherlock yelled at everyone in the room. "I will blow up this school if everyone does not shut up!"

…

Sherlock didn't hate detention because it was detention. He hated it because it was pointless, boring, and filled with idiots.

He entered the classroom reluctantly, scowling almost immediately at the other students there. They were the ones who didn't try, who got in trouble to prove themselves of their worth, or something similar. Sherlock knew he didn't belong there. And even if he did just a little, he should be studying the pills again. If he didn't die of boredom here, he would keep all the evidence to himself next time and make sure no one else knew.

He smirked at that thought. Good luck to the police without him there.

The rest of the time, Sherlock decided to enter his Mind Palace and think. It could work as a distraction from the other students texting, snapping gum, and whispering.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, rubbing his temples. He remembered everything he had observed in Molly's room, and every detail. He saw the position of the girl's body, the open cabinet, and then...

John Watson.

Sherlock snapped his eyes open, shaking his head. He hated being interrupted while he was thinking, especially by his own thoughts.

"Get out," he muttered to himself. A student looked back at him in confusion and Sherlock scowled.

For the next thirty minutes, Sherlock constantly stared at the clock. It was moving so slowly and it was agonizing. It was only about one hour after school, yet it felt like five or more hours. The minute hand seemed to be purposely going at such a slow rate. Clearly the school was literally trying to drive him insane.

Suddenly, Sherlock heard the sound of the door opening and looked up. The teacher who had been reading a magazine had left, leaving the door ajar. Any minute, another teacher could walk in to take the other's place, but Sherlock was much too impatient to wait even for one more second. He stood up and began to walk to the door.

"Hey! Where the hell are you going, Holmes?" Sherlock heard a student yell at him.

"Restroom," Sherlock muttered, ignoring the protests of the other students. As if they weren't going to walk out any moment too.

He went down the hallway and continued to turn corners until he found himself at a storage building the school barely even used. It had started out as a classroom, then the band room, and then simply nothing useful to the teachers anymore. Although that did not mean that the students didn't have any use for it.

He approached the building, listening before opening the door. Indeed, there was still some people in there, most likely after some sort of party. So stupid of them to have a party at this time. Inside was a mess - cups littered the floor, and so did many other things that Sherlock had no interest in investigating at the moment. He stopped short when he recognized two people sitting on a table.

Anderson looked up at Sherlock, immediately narrowing his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

Sally, who was standing in front of Anderson, turned around.

"Where's Lestrade?" He asked. Lestrade_ had_ been in Sherlock's room, but by now there was a chance he was here cleaning up to make sure the staff doesn't find out.

"He's not here," Sally said. It seemed like she wanted Sherlock to go away as quickly as possible.

"All right," Sherlock shrugged. He then smirked at Anderson. "And who - may I ask - gave you _that?_" He looked at the now swelling bruise on Anderson's eye and the bloody nose.

Anderson scowled again. "None of your business, freak. Now leave; No one wants you here."

Sherlock found himself feeling quite amused at seeing Anderson like this. Spitting insults to cover up his obvious injuries from another student.

He didn't want to waste his time bickering with Anderson now, however. It would be too easy. With Anderson upset and most likely in pain, so nothing would come of it. Not now.

Instead he made his way back outside. He had no idea where he was supposed to go; His room was occupied at the moment. Molly's was being kept watched and Lestrade was busy helping out the staff. He thought for a moment about anyone who considered him a friend and then almost laughed. He didn't have friends.

As he walked with his hands in his pockets, he suddenly remembered someone. He really didn't want to surrender to John Watson's offer of friendship, but he had no choice. Unless he wanted to sleep on the ground or in the restroom.

Sherlock began to walk.


	9. On the Roof

**Chapter 9**

John shut the door to his room quietly, balancing his heavier-than-usual backpack in one arm.

Damn his friends and classmates for sneaking alcohol into the rooms. He wasn't going to have it. Even if it meant that he had to get rid of all of it himself.

He had emptied his backpack temporarily in order to fit as many bottles of beer into the backpack. It was the only thing he had that was large enough and transportable.

It was dark, so he knew he would have to be careful if he wanted to make it to the school's dumpster, which was close to the gym. Unfortunately, the gym was on the other side of the school. But John didn't mind walking that far if it meant getting rid of the drinks.

He turned around and began to walk down the hallway. He felt a sort of unusual sense, like he was being watched.

John turned around, his heart stopping when he saw a tall, dark figure a few feet away.

"Jesus!" John jumped, dropping the backpack. He attempted to catch the backpack again but it hit the ground anyway, as he was not quick enough.

He winced when the backpack hit the ground, the sound of glass breaking echoing down the hall. He stood, frozen, expecting for the worst. The drinks began to seep through the fabric of the backpack and it spilled onto the floor, the puddle growing larger every second.

John cursed under his breath, picking up the dripping backpack and looking around for even a small trash can. He found none and so reluctantly put the backpack back into his arms, avoiding the glass protruding through.

Fortunately, no one had come, and John exhaled heavily.

"How unfortunate," John heard the familiar, deep voice behind him comment.

"What are you doing here?" John sighed, feeling stressed now though not blaming Sherlock. Ultimately, he blamed himself for not being more careful. That didn't stop him from feeling just a little angry, however.

"I..." Sherlock paused, not finishing his sentence, though starting a new one. "Do you need help?"

John knew that was not what Sherlock meant to say, but what could he do?

"No thank you," John said, though his arm was beginning to ache from the weight. He almost asked Sherlock, _"Do you?" _But he didn't. It would sound just a little odd.

"All right," Sherlock said, still standing in the same spot. Then, he took a few steps towards John and then his face was visible under the hallway's faint light.

"So... what are you doing out of your room?" John asked, his tone casual. Though he really wanted to know.

"I would ask the same of you if I didn't already know," Sherlock shrugged. That was no answer, not even close, but John let it slip. If Sherlock wanted to avoid the subject, then John would respect that.

John didn't know what else to talk about or do, so he slowly pushed past Sherlock. He felt his shoulder brush the boy's long coat as he passed.

If he were going to be caught, he would either get suspended or get a very large amount of detentions. He wasn't too keen on either happening, but it was either that or watching his friends get drunk and into even more trouble. Possibly life-threatening trouble, too.

John shuddered and shook those thoughts away, paying attention to where he was walking. Then, he turned around again.

Holmes still looked after him in the same spot in front of John's room. John felt like he needed to do something. It did seem like the boy was waiting, though John couldn't tell what that was.

"Are you all right?" He finally asked.

"Of course," Sherlock replied. After about a minute, however, Sherlock turned and began to walk in the opposite direction.

John couldn't stop wondering: Why was this boy so unusual? What had he been here for? Why didn't he tell him what he needed?

John watched Sherlock Holmes round the corner. Then, he resumed walking, the still-dripping beer in his arms leaving a trail. It was stupid for him to keep going, but it wasn't like he had any other choice.

He wondered what his friends were doing now, and if they were really great friends to begin with if all they did was use his refrigerator to sneak beer in.

...

John was walking back after successfully getting rid of all the alcohol. He had to admit he was quite pleased with himself and he wanted to have a quick shower and sleep.

At least he thought that was what he should do. Usually when he was awake this late, he never wanted to sleep again. It was so peaceful and there were no other bothersome students running around. There was always a slight, relaxing breeze and that was how it was now. He remembered how he used to stay up at night just because everyone else was asleep. Especially after the accident. Because of that, he learned to hate dreaming. The dreams were always confusing, violent, and plain irritating. He knew it would be much better without them at all.

So he felt like he wanted to stay outside just for a little while. Plus, it wasn't like there was a hurry; He still had a few hours of the night.

He was approaching his room when he heard a shuffle and looked up. He stared in disbelief at Sherlock Holmes sitting on the roof of the rooms.

"What. The. _Actual_ -"

"Hello, John."

"You are... just... _what?_"

"Care to join me?"

John glanced around, knowing that if he were caught outside and awake, he would get suspended. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he were caught on the roof.

Which is why he decided to climb up. He grabbed onto the ladder on the side of the building and passed there. Although it wasn't too high, it was high enough to give him that old thrill. He wasn't one to break rules for popularity or acceptance, though he did like the feel of adrenaline.

When he reached the top he walked over to Sherlock, who was sitting with his impossibly long legs dangling off the roof. He still wore that same long, dark trench coat and scarf. It looked like the scarf was beginning to wear down, though. John remembered hearing about how rich Sherlock's family was and wondered why he just didn't get a new scarf. He shrugged the subject off. Then, he looked around once more before moving to sit next to the Sherlock.

It was unusual, what they were doing in the first place. He knew this was against rules in a way, yet it felt all right. They were simply sitting on a roof and John still felt more relaxed than he had in a while. Still, he couldn't believe that he was here yet again with Sherlock, someone who he would have never talked to before and someone who belonged to such a different world. Sherlock Holmes was just so mysterious and different while John was average and boring. Sometimes he wondered why Sherlock even let John hang out with him, much less talk to him at all.

Finally, the silence was broken.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock commented, looking up at the sky.

John looked up as well at the clear sky, the stars illuminating brightly along with the large, full moon.

He turned back to Sherlock. "Are you being sarcastic?"

Sherlock looked at John questioningly. "Why would you think that?"

"Last time I checked, you didn't seem like one who appreciated... Well, anything really."

"Just because I don't usually like the world doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."

John decided to drop the subject and glanced at Sherlock, who seemed deep in thought as he studied the stars. John wondered what could possibly be going through that odd mind.

"This is..." _Awkward. Weird. Nice._ "Different," John finished.

"Bad different?"

"No. Good. Very good."

Sherlock looked at John curiously, as if he did not expect that answer.

"So why do you come up here anyway?" John cleared his throat. "I mean, is this normal for you?"

"John, when is anything about me considered 'normal'?"

"I mean," John paused, realizing something. "I think I see what this is."

"And what is that?"

"You like to think you're above everyone else. That's why you come up here."

"That's what you think?"

"Yeah, I guess -"

"Wrong. Although that was a nice guess."

"Not everyone is as good as you with those guessing games," John said.

After a pause, Sherlock spoke again.

"I like to be away from everyone else. All the chaos of the student life. It's tedious - all the socializing and the dating. What better way to waste your time than to spend time with someone who most likely does not even care for you and only wants to say they are in a relationship. Everyone would be better off minding their own business until later. We're all going to be separated after all. Anyway. You're up here because...?"

"I guess I just wanted an escape, you know?"

"I don't think that's it."

"Er... Okay...?"

"You came up here because it's different, like you said. Good different. You yearn for an escape, yes, though it's through thrills. This - having a chance of being caught - gives you that thrill. Especially not just being caught, but being caught with me, of all people. It would practically ruin your reputation with specifically Anderson and all those people you shouldn't be friends with. In other words, you are not just tired or stressed about your past. You miss it."

John was silent as Sherlock continued.

"Your past is horrible, but you liked what it was before. Not the bad parts. You want to move on, yet you still want the past again. You want to love an be loved. Just like with..."

"Don't. Please." John looked away, not wanting to give away anymore information. He knew just by the way he zipped his backpack, Sherlock would probably be able to tell his childhood with one look. He was both amazed and somewhat irritated. Now he felt uneasy. Mostly because deep down, John knew everything being said was true.

Sherlock was silent now and John continued to look down, still cautious. Though knowing Sherlock, he probably already knew.

"I've upset you," Sherlock stated.

"That's... That's a good deduction, yeah."

After a few seconds, Sherlock asked, "Are you angry at me?"

John looked yet again at Sherlock. He seemed unaffected by anything, and he was completely expressionless. The words that he was saying did not entirely match what he looked like. John didn't know what Sherlock was thinking... again.

"No, I'm not angry at you." He paused once more before admitting, "I'm kind of angry at myself."

Sherlock didn't ask why, and whether it was because he already knew why or he respected privacy, John was grateful.

"I understand," Sherlock said instead.

"How long are you planning to stay here?" John muttered, shifting.

"How long do you want to stay here?"

"I'm not sure. Don't really want to go back down there just yet."

"Me neither."

John sighed, feeling slightly more relaxed. He just wanted to sit back and sleep, though that wasn't exactly an option. He wondered what the punishment was for being caught on the roof after hours. Surely Sherlock had been here many times. Although Sherlock always seemed to get in trouble and so John wasn't counting on asking him if there was a chance they would get caught.

Still, he leaned back and put his arms under his head, watching the sky.

"What are you doing?"

"I _was_ relaxing," John took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"How?"

"You just... rest."

John heard shuffling and opened his eyes, smirking at Sherlock, who was now leaning back as well.

"John."

"Yes?"

"It's not working."

"That's because you're talking."

There was silence.

"Good?" John asked after a minute.

"No."

"Well, we tried," John sighed, sitting back up and feeling the blood rushing in his head.

He closed his eyes again, waiting for the dizziness to stop. When it did, he opened his eyes and sighed.

"What time is it?"

"Does it matter?"

John shook his head. "No. Not really."

Sherlock suddenly turned. "May I just ask: What exactly is it you want?"

"What?"

"If you asked what time it was, you would have been planning to go somewhere at a certain time. That was what I thought at first. And then you said it doesn't really matter, so now I can't seem to see why you are here anyway. Why are you spending time with me? Is this just what you like to do - help hopeless people?"

John stared. "It's a... small reason to live, I suppose. It's just a fact of humanity that we should help others. I mean, I haven't exactly found_ the_ real reason to live yet, though I think it's helping other people." He paused. "What's your reason to live?"

"I don't have one."

"I'm sure you have at least one."

"I am certain I don't."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because if I jump off this roof now, it wouldn't matter to anyone, much less me."

John was shocked.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true."

"That is utter bullshit. What about your family? Your mother?"

"They are as incapable of true emotion as me. They will get over it."

After a long moment, John grabbed Sherlock's coat collar and pulled him up close. He looked at Sherlock straight in the eye.

"Don't... _ever_ talk about yourself like that. Ever." John growled, a variety of emotions - mostly anger and disbelief - surging in him.

"Why do you care so much?" Sherlock whispered. There was a flash of shock, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

John didn't answer because he had no idea.

"We're friends... aren't we?"

"I don't have 'friends'," Sherlock said with somewhat disgust.

"You have me."

With that, John let go of Sherlock's collar and stood up, beginning to walk towards the ladder. He looked back once more. Sherlock continued to stare straight forward, not uttering a single word.

John made his way down the ladder.


	10. Old Flames

**Chapter 10**

Sherlock hesitated as he approached the cafeteria. It was crowded as ever, the buzz of conversation and the energy of teenagers hung in the air. The sound of trays slamming and chairs scraping against the floor mixed in. Students continued to pass him, most of them ignoring him as if he were part of the wall or bumping into him for no reason. Sherlock was used to all this, but today it felt just a bit different. Perhaps it was because of the one person who Sherlock couldn't seem to understand.

There John Watson was again - sitting at his usual table with Mike Stamford. Sherlock noticed he still looked tired and worn down as always. He was sure that if John tried to talk to him, he would have to make up some lie about where he slept the night before. In reality, he had ended up sleeping on a bench without getting caught. Mostly because he didn't even sleep, but then again, he never really did.

Sherlock passed John after a muttered "hello" and took his same spot at the table in the corner. He watched John look up at him a couple of times, always looking down after realizing Sherlock was already staring and attempting to seem preoccupied by fiddling with the zipper of his black jacket.

Suddenly, Sherlock's gaze was broken when Molly Hooper placed two trays in front of him.

"Here," she said, pushing one of the trays towards Sherlock. "I bought this for you."

"Thank you for the kind gesture," Sherlock replied vacantly, still looking at John. At the same time, another boy came up from behind Molly.

"Hello, Sherlock," the boy said.

Right when Sherlock heard the familiar voice it was as if someone had lighted a bomb next to him and he had just realized it was there.

This could not be happening. He looked up slowly in disbelief at Jim Moriarty.

Immediately, Sherlock's eyes widened and he almost grabbed Molly from Jim right then. But he couldn't, and he wouldn't, and Sherlock could see that Jim knew that. He wore the school uniform but even so he looked dangerous. With the fake, innocent smile came the cold, cruel, and dead eyes on the boy's face. Sherlock thought he would never see those eyes again. He felt the most aching sink of his heart when he did.

Sherlock didn't say anything more, just stared, and he didn't even care who was watching.

"Molly..." he began, but stopped when Jim met his eyes again. There was a sort of message in Jim's eyes, a warning to not say anything.

"Anyway," Molly said. "This is my new boyfriend, Jim. I met him in the chess club. Jim, this is -"

"I actually know Sherlock," Jim informed Molly in a cheerful tone. "We went to school together not too long ago!"

"Oh! Sherlock never mentioned you," Molly said, looking awfully surprised and overjoyed by the fact that Jim knew Sherlock. "Well, I wouldn't expect him to anyway, but you seem like you know each other quite well."

_Is she blind!?_ Sherlock couldn't help but think as he stared at Molly. Was his nervousness not being displayed accurately? Why wasn't she running now?

"Pity. We had so many wonderful memories together," Jim raised his eyebrows at Sherlock, causing a shiver to run down his spine. "Didn't we, Sherly?"

"Yes," Sherlock muttered. He cleared his throat, waiting and looking for anything else to take his mind off Moriarty standing right there. Then, he knew and immediately rested his gaze upon John's table. With his back turned, John wasn't looking at Sherlock. So Sherlock was alone in this, with not even a little sense of hope.

Molly looked between Jim and Sherlock and then smiled again. "Well, I'm going to go ask my friend over there about a test. I'll be right back!"

_No..._

But it was too late. Sherlock watched, helpless, as Molly left the table to walk across the cafeteria. Which left Sherlock alone with -

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, not ready for anything.

"Oh, Sherly!" The too-familiar sing-song voice said. "Open your eyes for me, dear."

Sherlock opened his eyes reluctantly, wishing for a second he was imagining the whole thing. But he wasn't, and he had to go through it.

"Good. Now we can both see each other better, yes? So where shall I begin?" Jim sat down in the seat next to Sherlock, that fake smile still there. "Oh, I do believe I know where to start. We should catch up on things! You did promise me that you would tell me everything, didn't you?"

"Fuck you."

"Incorrect answer! Looks like we've gotten a bit... confident over the years, haven't we?" Jim said, narrowing his eyes as if it were the worst thing in the world.

Sherlock said nothing now, not quite sure what else to say. He wanted to strangle the boy sitting in front of him now, crush his bones for what he had done in the past.

Sherlock suddenly realized silence was exactly what Jim wanted and cursed at himself.

"That's better. Now first question..." Jim said, leaning in close. Sherlock breathed slowly, knowing that Jim could probably hear his heart beat rapidly now.

"Did you really think you could get away from me?" Jim whispered the question directly in Sherlock's left ear. "After everything? I would have expected you to be much less... foolish. Idiotic. Stupid. Choose a word for yourself."

"I don't want to play any games with you."

Moriarty seemed to ignore this and continued. "Anyway. I'm going to leave that first question rhetorical, since we both know the obvious answer. Second question: How much have you changed?"

Sherlock felt Jim's hand grip his forearm. His breath caught.

"Let's see, shall we?" Jim said before squeezing Sherlock's forearm in a death-grip, nails digging uncomfortably into his flesh.

Sherlock winced as his shirt's sleeve was roughly pulled back to reveal few scars, the fresh ones from only last week. Either way, they were there for anyone to see, and something in Sherlock panicked, immediately attempting to pull his sleeve back on to no success.

"Ah. See? Those are the things that I like to know," Jim smiled. "That I left quite the impression on you."

Sherlock cleared his throat in an attempt to distract himself from the sharp pain coming from his arm now, and he found himself gripping the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles white with the strain. He did not want to succumb to what Moriarty wanted to see, for it had been so long.

"Do you remember when I told you that your older brother won't be able to help you all that much, and you didn't believe me? I could see it in your eyes, so don't even try to lie to me. And remember when I told you _exactly_ what I would do to you if you tried to get away? Weeeeelllllllllll, looks like I have no choice but to complete those things. After all, I did warn you, did I not? Although it looks like the skinning and cutting things won't be too difficult now. You've already done it yourself, good boy!"

Sherlock even had the thought once recently that he was beginning to forget Moriarty. But after everything that had happened, that was impossible.

"Stop." Sherlock's voice was hoarse but he didn't care.

"Why?"

Sherlock didn't say anything. Then, his back stiffened when Jim began to scratch deeply.

"It hurts." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

It pained him to admit the truth, to say exactly what Jim wanted to hear. It hurt his pride, and even though he really didn't have much of it anymore, it still made him feel ashamed. Though all Jim wanted was a game, and Sherlock had no choice but to play it for now.

The searing pain stopped for a moment, and Sherlock relaxed just a little. Then, Jim practically tore some of the skin off his arm when he removed his hand.

"But you like it, don't you?"

It was the worst thing.

Just then, Molly came back and Sherlock tried his best to put on a calm expression and regain his posture.

"I'm sorry I took so long. Got caught up in a conversation..." Molly said. She met Sherlock's eyes and seemed to see something there.

_Yes,_ Sherlock thought._ Look at me. Run._

Molly tilted her head questioningly.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Sherlock immediately nodded. "Of course. Why?"

"You just looked a little..."

"I'm fine."

Molly paused and then nodded. "Okay."

The bell rang then and Sherlock stood up a bit too quickly.

"Woah, there, Sherlock... in a hurry, are we?"

"I just want to get to class."

"Understandable," Jim shrugged. "You may leave... though I do hope we will see each other again. In fact..." Jim leaned in close for Sherlock to hear alone. "Meet me at the gym in... let's say, a week from now. If you don't... I'm sure you're used to the consequences by now. But don't expect anything easy. It'll be much, much worse. Let's just say that over the summer, I've picked up a few more things that I'd love to try on you."

Sherlock didn't even pause for a second more before turning around and going straight out the cafeteria. He didn't want to stay long enough for Jim to change his mind or decide to throw away the nice-guy act in front of Molly.

He didn't go to his class, however. It would be an unpleasant and rather horrible surprise to see if Jim were in any of his next classes. So he did the same thing he did every time he was too tired or didn't feel like going to class - he went to his room.

No playing the violin this time. No getting his mind distracted by spending hours thinking. Just going to have a quick shower and maybe find some ice somewhere. Then he would find somewhere else where Jim would not be able to find him. Although that was nearly impossible considering he had found him here, at this school, Sherlock could at least put him off for a day or two.

He glanced down hesitantly, pulling his sleeve back once more to check on how his arm was doing. There were now new bruises beginning to form, and the shape of Jim's hand and nails left a deep, red mark. Some of the newer cuts had been re-opened where the skin was scratched, and Sherlock traced over them to wipe some of the blood away. It stringed.

He would have to make sure it doesn't bleed through or be seen by anyone. Though what he really wanted to do at the moment was not become even more careful than he already was, but to disappear again - or to at least fall asleep and not wake up. Anything would be better than what was happening now and what he knew was going to come. At this point, he was willing to give anything to get far, far away from here.

* * *

**A/N: Not gonna be able to update next week, so I'm going to update again later! Whoo. Yeah. **

**Thanks to everyone who ever reviewed, favorited, or followed! **


	11. Progress and then None

**Chapter 11**

When John heard a soft knock on his door, he was truly confused. Mike wasn't there at the moment, for he always came back to the room very late. It was only after dinner, after all.

He knew it would probably be Sarah. Who else?

Without checking to see who it was, John opened the door.

His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Sherlock staring at him. The sight of Sherlock was beginning to become oddly familiar to John.

"Erm... hello," John was able to say. The air coming from outside was slightly colder than that of John's room and he crossed his arms to try and keep warmer.

"Hello," Sherlock replied, leaning against the door frame.

"Are you, um... All right?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, but John noticed he looked quite uncomfortable. It looked as if he were about to reveal some huge, humiliating secret.

"Are you sure?"

"I was wondering if... do you know... any extra... rooms, or anything?"

John wouldn't have expected Sherlock to be the one to stutter. Although again, the situation now was very different than a normal encounter would be.

"What do you need?"

Sherlock seemed to glance around the room quickly before looking down.

"Your roommate doesn't come back until late, correct?"

John paused. "Yes," he replied hesitantly. "Why?"

"Do you mind if... I stay here for a bit?" The last words were muttered and rushed, but John heard them clearly enough. He stared, slightly surprised that Sherlock had finally asked for something.

Sherlock seemed to catch his reaction and sighed.

"I don't need to. I just assumed..."

"No! It's all right. It's all fine. I was just..."

"Not expecting."

"Exactly."

There was an uncomfortable pause and John looked down, not meeting Sherlock's eyes. Instead, he stared at a piece of wood on the door frame Sherlock was picking at.

"Anyway. You need to stay here for awhile?"

"I..." Sherlock frowned. He most likely did not want to repeat admitting that he needed John, and John knew that. "My room is... not available to me."

John opened his mouth to ask why before changing his mind. Instead of asking, he glanced over at his bed. Fortunately, that was neat and made, but the rest of the room was a mess. His pencils, paper, and books scattered the ground. He felt like he suddenly wanted to straighten up everything for Sherlock. Though he didn't, and sighed instead.

"How long do you need to stay here?" John asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Sherlock said, coming up to stand next to John now. "At least tonight."

John looked up at Sherlock, realizing his heart was beginning to beat more quickly. It was probably because they were doing something that was not allowed once again. He noticed he felt that sense of excitement whenever he was around Sherlock. Suddenly, John realized he was staring and looked down.

"Sorry. So. You can take my bed, if you'd like..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I can sleep on the floor."

"But -"

"This is your room, isn't it?" Sherlock crossed his arms.

"Well, yes. However -"

"And we barely know each other?"

"I -"

"Then I will not disrupt your normal routines and sleep."

John exhaled, feeling defeated. It was his own room and he should be telling Sherlock this, but he didn't feel like arguing at the moment. He was tired and somewhat stressed, though not quite wanting to go to sleep because he would have to face tomorrow.

"You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want to do. I won't bother you," John said, dismissing the argument. He moved towards a box that had extra pillows and a blanket. He took them out and set them on the floor as comfortable as he could get it to be.

"There. Happy?"

"It is satisfactory," Sherlock said as he began to take off his jacket and unbutton his shirt.

"Woah, hold on," John said, raising his hands up. "There's a bathroom right over there. You can change there, if you want..."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John.

"I would have expected you to be more mature in situations like this. We all change in the locker room, by the way, and we are old enough to not giggle at anything related to sex."

John felt himself immediately blush.

"I didn't mean... I was just... not sure if you wanted privacy or anything. I wasn't thinking about... sex, or anything." He paused, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm... straight," he finished lamely.

"All right."

John continued to look at Sherlock.

"So... do you have a girlfriend?" John asked suddenly. He tried to change the subject but now he had a feeling he was making it even more awkward.

"No."

"Okay," John nodded. Conversation didn't seem to be so easy with Sherlock Holmes.

"Do you have a boyfriend, then?"

Sherlock studied John carefully, and then seemed to realize something. He took a breath and looked at John cautiously.

"John... I hope you understand that this is simply for the purposes of not having a room available to me at the moment," Sherlock began slowly. "And while I am flattered by your interest..."

John's eyes widened. "No! I..." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just saying. It's all fine."

Sherlock looked at John for a moment more before shrugging and turning to change in the bathroom. He didn't shut the door, however, so John casually looked away.

When Sherlock emerged in plain gray pajamas that John didn't remember Sherlock having in the first place, John went over to sit at his desk. He noticed Sherlock followed him and stood next to the desk, watching him with mild curiosity.

"What are you doing?"

"Studying," John said. "Tests tomorrow."

"Studying is boring," Sherlock huffed.

"Yes, we all know that."

"Then why are you doing that?"

John turned around to face Sherlock and sighed. "For one, I don't want to fail."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he observed John. "Your eyes are drooping every minute. When you catch yourself, you rub your eyes and take a breath, attempting to stay awake. Your shoulders are slumped and even though you are acting like you're awake, your voice is slightly faltering. You didn't drink. You don't drink at all anymore, not for a long while, and so you must simply be tired."

"You could have just said I'm tired," John yawned. "God, I need to sleep."

"Then sleep."

"Can't. Test -"

"You'll do fine."

"I don't think so. I didn't do the reading."

"I didn't read it at all. Too much unnecessary data."

John looked up. "How'd you pass, then?"

"I didn't pass; Don't be ridiculous."

"Okay. Well, what grade do you have in English, if you don't mind my asking?" John turned to face Sherlock fully.

"D minus," Sherlock muttered calmly.

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"That's not good. At all," John paused, thinking. Then, he got an idea. "I can help you in that subject, if you want. I have a lot of free time. Especially next week."

Sherlock didn't meet John's gaze and John suddenly wondered if he said something wrong again.

"That's... thoughtful of you. Although... I'm not available next week."

"Oh, okay. Maybe next time, then?" John asked hesitantly.

"Tell me, John, would you rather take the test half-awake, not thinking clearly enough, or have a perfectly fine amount of knowledge with a clear mind?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Please. I just..." John noticed Sherlock's abrupt change in subject but excused it. He then thought about Sherlock's words for a moment and finally shut his textbook.

"You sure you don't want to take the bed?" He asked, turning.

His eyes fell on Sherlock's left arm and his eyes widened.

"What the _hell_ happened!?"

"What? Nothing," Sherlock said, hastily moving the inside of his arm to face away from John's view. Though it was too late; John had seen the bruises and blood. His heart was beating quickly and he stood up from the desk, moving carefully closer.

Sherlock stepped back every time John attempted to come closer. John felt like he was trying to get the trust of an injured puppy, and it made him feel uneasy. The way Sherlock looked at him, his eyes pleading to let the subject go. He would, but John knew all too well that if he let things like this go, the worst would happen. He had learned that the hard way.

Finally, there was no where else for Sherlock to step back and John paused.

"Please," John said in the best comforting tone he could put on. "I know it's difficult. But you've got to let me see so I can help you."

"I don't need help."

"Trust me, I... I understand." John gave a small smile before becoming serious again. "You think no one can help you. You feel trapped and you... kind of just want to sleep and not wake up again. That no one could possibly understand what you're going through..."

"I don't need some therapy talk," Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I just want to be left alone."

John sighed, knowing this was going to be more difficult than he previously imagined.

"I promise that I won't hurt you."

Sherlock immediately stiffened, a deep, distant look flooding his eyes. At the moment, John knew he probably had said the completely wrong thing.

"I'm sorry. Just..."

"Do you not understand? I don't need your help. I don't need anyone."

Sherlock finally knew he had no choice.

"If you don't let me help you now," John began hesitantly. "Then I'm going to report you."

"Blackmail, John? Really? How unoriginal and predictable. They're used to me being reported. They won't care."

"Of course they will care! The school has to care for all their students."

"Not for me."

"And why is that? Because your massive intellect makes you too good for anyone else?"

Sherlock scowled.

"Why must we talk about this every time? They won't care because I am nothing. No one cares about me."

John almost punched Sherlock then. Why anyone could think so lowly of themselves was not a mystery to him. But he hated the way Sherlock said those things about himself, like the words had been forcefully shoved into his mouth to be repeated over and over. He wanted to tell him that he cared, and even though he barely knew him, he would find a way to make him feel better with whatever he was struggling with.

On the other hand, he knew that Sherlock Holmes was a very stubborn boy. And that no matter what he did right now, he wouldn't let him help. Which made John feel horrible.

He looked back up at Sherlock, who was still looking at him quietly. Finally, he forced himself to look down.

"Fine," he sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry." John walked into the bathroom and locked the door. He didn't want to look at Sherlock any longer.

...

When John finished getting ready, he lied down in his bed awkwardly, noticing Sherlock was simply sitting up and staring forward.

The next thing he knew, however, he had drifted into sleep.


	12. Something New

**A/N: As you may or may not have deduced, I decided to merge the chapters. This is becoming longer than I expected and I thought it would be easier if I simply put the really short chapters together with the normal ones. Hope that's fine!**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

When John woke up, he was alone. He sat up in his bed, looking down at the ground next to him. There were no pillows or blankets or anything at all other than a pencil and jacket, which was what had been there before. He looked over at Mike's bed; it was made and his backpack was gone, so it looked like Mike had gotten up and left.

John looked around, confused as ever and wondering if the whole night had been a dream. Still, he wanted at least one small sign that Sherlock Holmes had been there.

But there was none. And that bothered John. If it had been a dream, it had been an unusually vivid one.

He glanced at the clock and realized he had about ten minutes to get ready for the day. He leaped out of bed, took a quick shower, got dressed, and soon he grabbed his backpack. After stuffing everything from his desk inside the backpack, he ran out of the room.

...

When John arrived in the lunchroom that day, he found things to be just slightly different. He knew it was just him, though. No one was aware of what had occurred last night with Sherlock. He was just feeling different because of that.

Sarah saw John and waved quickly before looking down at her food again. Mike was reading a book and Clara wasn't sitting there at all. John found that he didn't feel hungry, but he caught sight of Sherlock sitting and staring at a spot on the same isolated table. John looked from Sherlock, then to Anderson and Sally, and then to Sarah, Mike, and Clara. He was frozen and Clara looked at him curiously. Sarah looked up again and followed John's gaze to Sherlock. She raised her eyebrows and mouthed a "what?" to John, who then approached his table, watching Anderson cautiously. He felt extremely nervous and did not meet anyone's eyes. He didn't get up to get food either.

"Hello, John," Sarah greeted.

"Hi," John muttered, looking anywhere but at his friends. "Hey, I need to ask you guys something."

"Anything," Clara said.

"Well, it's about Sher -"

"Sherlock this, Sherlock that! Is everything about Sherlock to you, now?" Anderson groaned.

"You listen here. You stay clear of him. I don't understand why you even think about him at all!"

John glared at Anderson with hatred. "There's nothing wrong with Sherlock."  
"Oh, first name basis, I see. Seriously, what is your problem!?

"You know what?!" John stood up abruptly, the chair screeching as it scraped backward against the hard floor. It got quieter in the cafeteria and John could feel other people's stares. He didn't care.

"I'm going to say this since nobody else seems to be saying it. You need to ask yourself what's wrong with you. Because really, everything seems to be according to you in this school. Look around, other than you and a few other people, no one hates or harasses Sherlock as much as you do. Whatever he did can't be as bad as how you treat him on a daily basis. Sure, he's more talkative than the rest of us are, but you're just making a huge, unnecessary deal out of this. So I'm going to say what a lot of people probably have been wanting to say to you, Anderson. Grow the fuck up."

After what seemed like ages of an agonizing silence, John tore his gaze away from a shocked Anderson and crowd. He knew he had probably screwed up with his friends this time.

He made his way to the restroom once more.

…

John stared into the mirror for about ten minutes, wanting the bell to ring already so he could get to class. But that didn't happen, and he closed his eyes again, wishing he could just disappear. The door opened, but he didn't look up because he didn't care.

"John?"

John's eyes snapped open and met Sherlock's gaze in the mirror. He didn't look worried or sorry at all; he looked as emotionless as ever. But he was here, and that was all that mattered.

"What are you doing here?" John finally asked, not turning around. He found himself trying to look at Sherlock's arm again and instead looked down the drain.

"Well, this is a restroom available to all male students," Sherlock noted.

"You know what I mean."

"I was checking to see if you were fine."

"Really?" John turned around now.

"You helped me when I needed you to. I'm simply returning the favor."

Something in John's mind caused him to sigh in relief. So it had not been a dream after all. The proof was right here, with the boy himself.

John finally shrugged. "All I did was allow you to sleep in my room. Not really a big deal."

"You should be careful."

"What? Why?"

"People will talk."

"Honestly, I really don't care at this point. It doesn't matter how clean your reputation is or how innocent you make yourself seem. People will always go behind your back and say bad things about you. That's just the way things are. Might as well accept it." John laughed a little harder than he meant to. "What will they say, anyway? That we shagged last night?"

Sherlock looked a little taken aback at the direct confirmation but the surprise was covered as quickly as it had come.

"Something like that."

John paused. "I was joking, you know."

"I know."

"Okay. It's just... You looked a little surprised, that's all."

Sherlock hesitated, still looking slightly uncomfortable. He was shifting a little.

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"What? I didn't say -"

"You were thinking it."

"I..." John frowned, still not used to Sherlock's psychic... whatever it was. "Never mind. Just... forget it. Forget everything."

"Everything?"

John looked up. Sherlock was serious.

"What do you mean?"

"If you wish for me to forget everything, in other words all our interactions, I can and I will."

"What?"

"I will delete the memories."

"You're serious?" John stared. "It's that easy for you?"

"Yes, actually."

John paused, still checking if Sherlock was joking or not. But there was no hint of any joking, as always. He sighed.  
"No. I don't want you to forget anything. Why would you want to forget something?"

"Well, my... past school years weren't my favorite times."

"You remember them, though."

"That's because I couldn't delete all of them."

"Oh."

John cleared his throat and checked his watch. He looked up.

"Still have fifteen minutes," he said with a sigh.

"What? You would rather go back to learning about unnecessary things like the Pythagorean Theorem?"

John shrugged. "Not like we have any choice."

"John, would you like to solve a mystery?"

"What?" John laughed. He couldn't help himself; the way Sherlock had said it made it sound like some detective drama. Then, he noticed Sherlock was serious.

"Sorry, but I can't," John said. "I have an appointment with the counselor today."

Sherlock nodded, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Good luck with that, then." He turned, and with a look back, exited the restroom.

John hesitated, and then couldn't stop himself. He turned around and followed Sherlock Holmes out the door.

...

John had ended up spending the rest of lunch with Sherlock. Although it had felt just a little odd since he could feel his friends' stares, it was relieving in a way.

He found himself enjoying being with Sherlock, it being a new, somewhat thrilling experience. Sherlock didn't talk as much, though when he did, it was about much more entertaining things like experiments and severed heads.

"Don't you ever get in trouble for doing those things?" John asked, popping a french fry in his mouth.

"Yes. But I am certain they are used to it by now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"They no longer give a fuck about me."

John nodded, happening to catch Sarah's eye when he turned. He bit his lip and looked back to Sherlock. He noticed now the clear difference between sitting with Sherlock and sitting at his usual table. When he laughed, he wasn't faking. He was truly enjoying himself, while he sometimes faked conversation and reactions with his other friends. He found it surprisingly easier to keep talking, albeit a steady train of thought couldn't be kept. He didn't have to worry about saying what Sherlock wanted to hear, because Sherlock either didn't want to hear anything or really wanted to hear what John thought.

"What class do you have next?" John asked, wanting to know more about Sherlock in the short amount of time they had left.

"Language Arts." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You don't like that class?"

"I hate it. It's utterly pointless," Sherlock replied.

"We're learning about Shakespeare," John insisted. "He's not so bad..."

"Oh, yes. Because learning about two people killing themselves for each other is such useful knowledge."

John frowned. "They were in love."

"They were thinking and acting stupidly. Both their lives were cut short because they couldn't get over the fact that they had to part."

John had absolutely no idea what else to say and so tried to think of a different subject. He had realized a while ago that Sherlock did not believe in anything like love, or friendship, even. John had no idea what this was, but he didn't want to think all that much about it.

"So," John began hesitantly. "Where did your roommate sleep last night?"

"I don't have a roommate."

"Ah." John wondered how Sherlock had convinced the school to have his own room. Then again, Sherlock was different. Extremely different.

John looked at his watch again and sighed.

"Two more minutes," he said, looking back up at Sherlock. He looked at the untouched tray between them.

"You should definitely eat something," John noted.

"I don't need to."

"You'll be hungry later..."

"No, I won't."

"Right. Okay. I was just... suggesting." John shrugged, knowing he could not get through Sherlock's stubbornness. He didn't think he would ever be able to.

"Anyway. This 'mystery' you mentioned..."

"I've already solved it."

"What? But you said -"

"I know what I said. How else was I going to convince you to come with me?" Sherlock looked down.

"You could have just asked," John muttered. He realized Sherlock probably thought that John had no reason to be in his company unless he was interesting. John did find Sherlock extremely interesting. In fact, he was the most interesting person he had met in the school.

He couldn't tell Sherlock that, however.

"Well, better get going," Sherlock suddenly said.

"Where?" John asked, realizing when the bell rang. "Oh."

John watched as Sherlock stood up, giving him one more glance before leaving. John stood up as well, not wanting to be caught in the crowd of students exiting the lunchroom at the same time.

He caught sight of Sarah and Mike and immediately went into the left direction. He was not entirely sure why he was avoiding them so much now, except that he didn't want to be thrown numerous questions concerning his decision to spend time with Sherlock. He then remembered where he was supposed to be and gave up attempting to follow Sherlock, instead heading into the direction of the office once more.

…

"How are you, John?"

"Okay."

"How have you been?"

"Er... fine."

"That's good. How has the journal been going?"

John snapped out of his automatic, meaningless responses, a realization dawning upon him. The room smelled of hand sanitizer and lemon air freshener.

"I didn't bring it, sorry." In fact, he could swear he had forgotten about it.

"That's perfectly fine. I was just asking how it was going," Ella said with a smile.

"Good... yeah." John cleared his throat, looking down.

"Written anything?"

"Well... a few thing," John admitted.

"All right. You know you can write anything. I won't ask you to bring it because it is for your eyes only, remember?"

John nodded, continuing to look down.

"Have you made any new friends?" Ella asked.

John paused for a moment, not sure if he was answering thinking of his usual lunch table or Sherlock. "Yes."

"Good ones?" John knew what Ella meant. As in_ do they drink? Smoke? Have unprotected sex every day?_

"I think they are all right."

"That's great."

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, John shifted in his seat, wondering when this would be over.

"Is there anything or anyone you would like to talk about, John?" Ella suddenly asked, causing John to finally look up. He had a feeling that Ella could see right through him. Although that was impossible.

Still, due to a particular person, it was a possibility.

John hesitated still, realizing that he really did have something to talk about. he wanted t o talk about everything that had happened since the accident. About his roommate and about Sarah. The party, Sally, and Anderson were still being kept bottled up inside. And of course, the mysterious Sherlock Holmes, who was not like anyone John had ever met in his life.

"No," John sighed, shaking his head. He wanted to talk - he really did. But not to Ella. "Nothing."

John could feel Ella still staring at him. She knew of course. It was her job to know when the students were hurting inside and trying to hide it. Though John highly doubted that she would demand the truth.

"Just remember that we are here to help you," Ella said seriously. "If there is anything at all wrong, you absolutely must tell us. We are listening and we want to help you."

"Thank you," John muttered. Though he wasn't going to change his mind.

And with that, John left.


	13. Too Fast?

**Chapter 13**

Sherlock had a feeling that this was not going to end anytime soon.

He sat as his desk, feeling as if his past were coming back to him this easily.

He was so foolish to think that it could have ended that easily. Everything with Moriarty. He should have known better - Jim was the one who would never let anything go. He still remembered the last time he spoke to him so many years ago.

He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. The first time he had gotten away from Moriarty, he had looked over his shoulder everywhere he went. He used to wake up every night from nightmares, which were worse because they were memories, not made-up things. The only distraction from Moriarty now was John Watson, who would just not leave Sherlock alone. Though Sherlock couldn't seem to leave John alone either.

Suddenly, there was a knock and he went to open the door, finding a nervous-looking Lestrade.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, irritated.

"Hello to you too," Lestrade nodded. "May I come in?"

"No."

Lestrade sighed and looked around before whispering, "I'm not supposed to be here."

"You're very rebellious - I know."

Lestrade ignored this. "I was just checking in on you. Are you okay? I mean, I haven't seen you lately and the office -"

"Doesn't care."

"Well. That's not true."

Sherlock sighed. "You can leave. You'll get caught."

"I have a pass, actually."

"Then use your pass to go away!"

"Sherlock, stop." Lestrade opened the door again, wedging his shoe in to stop the door from closing anymore. "Listen to me."

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms.

"Molly and I have been... talking. A lot, actually. About you."

"I am glad to be a topic of conversation and excuse for you to talk to your crush. Now please leave me in peace."

"I know you're hurting yourself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am not."

"Fine. Prove it to me, and then I'll leave. I will apologize beforehand if I'm wrong, too."

Sherlock scoffed. "This is ridiculous! You have no right to -"

"As your friend -"

"I don't. Have. Friends!" Sherlock growled.

"Colleague! Classmate! Babysitter!" Lestrade began to raise his voice.

"Shut up! You'll wake up everyone."

"As if you even care. Now stop trying to change the subject or to slip out of this one. I'm serious." Lestrade looked at Sherlock dead in the eye. "Really. I don't care if you don't think I'm your friend; you're my friend to me. Friends look out for each other, and I'm not going to let you go and waste yourself like you were doing two years ago. I hoped I would never see you as bad as you were back then, but now I'm having a feeling that that Sherlock is resurfacing. I'm not entirely sure why, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let it happen."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, then," Sherlock said, beginning to turn away. Then, Lestrade punched him in the face.

Sherlock staggered back, completely taken by surprise. He stared at Lestrade in disbelief.

"Wha -!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I was just... I was angry, and... you...!" Lestrade stuttered, his eyes wild. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he repeated.

In all honesty, Sherlock was amazed. Greg Lestrade was always the good one, the one who told people off for not throwing their trash away or for making out in the halls. Always followed all the school's orders and never failed to give everyone detention for not doing so. Although Lestrade was strict, he was a very likable person to everyone. And though Lestrade wasn't a fighter, Sherlock had known - had sensed - that there was some breaking point in that patient mind of Greg Lestrade, and now, Sherlock knew he had finally gotten to it. Lestrade had finally snapped.

"What the hell are you smiling at!? Stop!" Lestrade demanded.

"You!" Sherlock laughed. "Oh, this is hilarious. I knew you had it in you all along."

Lestrade went red and looked down.

"Well, glad I'm amusing to you." He then paused, looking back up at Sherlock's laughing. "That's... a bit odd."

"What? You?"

"Er... no. Never mind." Lestrade said, beginning to walk away. "Well, don't burn the school down."

Sherlock shut the door.

...

"I mean... I don't know, Clara. He's just not like anyone I've ever met before."

"You keep saying that. It's a bit weird."

"Yeah, sorry," John said, taking another sip of his water. The party was a small one, which John very much preferred over a crazy and out-of-control one. He could tell Clara was bored, but he didn't want to bring that subject up. He needed to vent about Sherlock, and he couldn't vent about Sherlock to Sherlock. Mike wasn't a good listener, and Sarah had parties of her own to attend. Besides, John didn't have any other friends, and that was why he had ended up was a good listener, and John knew she wouldn't gossip or judge like the others would.

The problem John had with Sherlock was increasingly worsening. Everywhere he went, he couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. Whenever he was alone, he felt emptier inside than ever before. He knew he shouldn't be having these feelings, because Sherlock wasn't like that at all. It would be a miracle if Sherlock liked him back. Yet John could not stop wanting to make a move.

"Anyway. I'm not really sure what I should do."

"Well... how do you feel? About... Holmes, I mean."

"How do I_ feel?_"

"Yeah. Like, are you cool with him, or... annoyed, at all? Is he forcing you to talk to him?"

"No," John shrugged. He continued when he saw the look of doubt on Clara's face. "Really. Sure, he can be a prick sometimes, but other than that... there's just something there. I'm not really sure what it is yet, but he's different."

"Like...?"

John sighed. "He... listens. He doesn't interrupt me when I'm talking to him, and... even though he already knows everything I'm about to say, he still decides to listen. Well, he interrupts, yeah, but then... I just... I don't know. He's weird, but... in a good way. Fascinating. He makes school much less dull. No, scratch that. He makes life less dull. He's just so unusual. Did you know he does all these science experiments willingly just for his own entertainment? And then sometimes he helps out the police. The police, Clara. He's cleverer than they are - can you believe it!?" John smiled into his glass. "Whenever I'm around him, I just feel... complete, you know?"

"Stop right there," Clara said, holding out her hands as if to back him off. "Have you gone gay?"

John looked at Clara with a confused expression. "I'm not gay!"

"Well, you definitely sound like it. Don't... talk about Holmes like that to anyone else, okay?"

"Yeah." John sighed, sliding his glass aside. "Yeah, all right. Better get going, though."

"Where to? Not running off to Sherlock again, are you?" Clara joked, laughing lightly.

"Hah. Er... no. Not at all. Just have to go back to my room to finish up some things."

As he left, however, John knew that this would be the time he made a move. It had to be. Either it would go extremely and terribly wrong, or it would go all right. Whatever happened, John knew he would have to finish this problem. At least the distracting secret crush part would be out of the way.

…

Sherlock knocked on the door hesitantly, carrying his textbooks in his arms with his backpack slung over his shoulder. It was just after classes ended, and he felt slightly out-of-place for being out in the open so early. Of course, he always felt out-of-place, but it was different right now.

Suddenly, the door opened.

"Sherlock!"

"John," Sherlock nodded, noting John's clothing, hair, and posture. John wore slightly different clothes from that day. For one, he wore a different ugly jumper, and his hair was flatter. He looked at Sherlock like it was a surprise or he had forgotten about their appointment, but it was obvious he had been expecting Sherlock.

"What?" John asked.

"Oh, nothing," Sherlock smirked as he followed John inside.

"All right," John said, looking around. "Where would you like to...?"

"Here's fine," Sherlock shrugged, moving to sit at the foot of John's bed. John sat next to Sherlock with some extra paper, pens, and a pencil.

"All right. Let's get started, shall we?"

The next hour, John attempted to help Sherlock understand Shakespeare, to no success at all. Sherlock couldn't understand anything, and whenever he attempted to recover the deleted information in his mind like Hamlet's Soliloquy or Sonnet 180, he ended up feeling overcrowded.

"I can't do this!" Sherlock finally said, rubbing his forehead.

"Yes, you can," John said with a patient tone. "You know about Romeo and Juliet, right? You mentioned them before."

Sherlock turned, confused. "Who?"

"Never mind. Just... why don't we work on something else?"

"I know Shakespeare is so very entertaining to learn about, but can we at least work on your chemistry homework? It's much more interesting, and -"

"Haha... no." John stood up to close the blinds to block the unwanted light from shining into the room. "There would be no point in helping you in a subject you're already good at."

"All right, but -"

"No. I'm sorry, Sherlock, but if you really want to even pass this subject, you have to at least try." John sat back down.

"I don't want to pass," Sherlock huffed, leaning back against the bed and crossing his arms. This time, John didn't reply and continued to look through the book. He then checked his watch and looked up again.

"You don't have anywhere to be, right?" John asked.

"No."

"Okay. Because we're almost done, but... yeah. Anyway." John turned to pick up his textbook and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here we are! Sonnet 116. Now -"

"Oh, God. How many sonnets are there and how much time did Shakespeare have!?"

"Well, we're only going to take a look at the famous ones for now."

Sherlock groaned in protest and grabbed one of John's pillows from the bed behind him, slamming it onto his face. It was soft and smelled like clean shampoo... like John.

Awkwardly, Sherlock replaced placed the pillow back onto the bed behind him and took a breath.

"Ready?" John asked.

"Hmph."

"Will you read this for me?"

Sherlock sighed and began to mutter, "_Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds..._ What the hell does this even mean?"

"It's all right, you're doing fine. Just keep going."

"_Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken... Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. _Erm..._ if this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved._ "

John smiled. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I have no idea what I just read."

"Which is exactly why we're going to analyze it."

Sherlock began to complain again until John gave him a stern look.

"Now. What do you think it means?"

Sherlock re-read the pointless, stupid sonnet again, his mind picking up each word and attempting to string them together like formulas. Then some of the words seemed to be used as types of metaphors and other complicated things that Sherlock could not remember. He exhaled heavily.

"Something to do with love."

"That's very observant."

Sherlock glared at John and continued, his mind buzzing.

"It's a sort of definition. That... love is not... changing? Different?"

"Go on."

"Second part... isn't a metaphor. I think."

"What is it?"

"It says that love is '_a fixed guiding star unshaken by its tempests_'... I'm not sure what that means exactly but I suppose it's just the same. Not changing. The third part says 'Love's not time's fool' and that means ever the same. That love does not change or falter in time."

"Huh. You're a natural." John couldn't help but smile again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his smile either.

After a moment, John cleared his throat and looked around. He felt a slight flutter of his heart at Sherlock's smile. It was just so rare... John felt like he had only seen Sherlock smile or laugh only about twice. It was like some sort of treat that John always hoped he would get to see.

Now, as the mood was so light and good, John felt like he was actually happy.

It was stupid, really, especially since all they were doing was reciting Shakespeare and working, but it was true.

John looked up at Sherlock again, who gazed at him curiously, probably trying to read him again.

Before he could stop himself, John moved closer.

"John." Sherlock's voice was cautious and... was that nervousness?

"Sherlock," John whispered, savoring the name as he spoke it before closing his eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Sherlock nodded cautiously, and John took no more time to waste. He knew he would probably regret this later, but it was now or never.

He then leaned forward, rested his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, and pressed his lips gently onto Sherlock's.

...

Sherlock froze, his heart beating rapidly. Immediately he panicked.

But then this was John. John Watson was good. Though even if Sherlock attempted to calm himself down by reminding him this was his friend, he was still feeling uneasy.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss and just stopping himself from shoving John backwards. He felt nauseous.

The room was dead silent, and Sherlock could see the hurt on John's face. He swallowed thickly, not quite sure what to do next.

Finally, it was John who spoke.

"Sherlock? I... I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me. I just... I didn't mean to..." John took a breath and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock stared, his mind racing. He was still internally attempting to calm himself down, but he still had that feeling that he was in danger. Old memories long since deleted - or at least attempted to be deleted - were resurfacing.

"Are you all right?"

Sherlock nodded, still not meeting John's eyes. Why did he have to be so cautious and screwed up? John wouldn't hurt him. It was just a kiss - nothing more. He shouldn't be getting so messed up about it.

"John," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

John stared. "For what?"

"For everything." Sherlock moved to stand up, picking up his textbooks with shaking hands. "I never should have come here. You never should have talked to me in the first place."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Everything's my fault now. You should have stayed with your other friends."

"No... Sherlock! Stop." John stood up as well, stilling Sherlock's arms and looking him in the eyes. "It was my fault. I should have asked you first. I just... you're so... you make me happy. You make me feel... not alone. I couldn't... I... but it doesn't matter. I should have made sure you were okay with it. For that, I'm sorry." John took a breath. "Please, Sherlock. Don't leave me. Not like this."

"John..." Sherlock still felt a bit dizzy, and he wanted nothing more then to just sink into some sort of darkness. Everything was so overwhelming and complicated. He loved it when things were like that,but not like this. Not with something that was unknown... that he didn't fully understand.

"Tell me what's wrong," John whispered. "I just... I feel so guilty. Please let me understand. Ever since I met you, you've been full of these... dark secrets that I don't know about. You don't have to tell me everything, but... I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong and what I should do that is right."

Sherlock couldn't tell John the truth. He couldn't explain, even if he wanted to. No one else would be able to understand. Why would John? Besides, John was so ordinary and probably was like the others. He hung out with Anderson, after all. And if John found out... he would leave. He would look at him horribly and run off.

Sherlock would lose his only friend.

"I can't."

John looked at Sherlock for a moment more before nodding.

"I understand."

"Understand what?"

"If you don't want to tell me... whatever it is."

Sherlock nodded, although he was still feeling horrible. He couldn't bear to look at John anymore.

"Thank you," Sherlock finally muttered, as he picked up his backpack and stumbled out of the door.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, guys. I didn't even notice it had been more than a week since I last updated. I had things like personal problems, school things, and all that fun stuff . So anyway, thanks for your patience! **


	14. Finally

** A/N: If you're still wondering "When did I follow _this_ person?" **

**It's Laurie Winchester-Holmes. I regenerated for a number of reasons. Mostly because my old username, as fandomy as it was, had too many characters for things like LJ and the Archive. Sorry if it's confusing or it has confused you!**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

John had not stopped Sherlock from walking out of the room. Instead he stared after, internally loathing himself for what he had brought on.

He still couldn't believe he had done what he did. He had distanced himself from any intimate contact for so long. Perhaps that was his problem. He had needed any sort of physical contact with another person. Would he have kissed Sarah if she had been here?

In all honesty, he probably wouldn't have. Even if he was straight.

Which brought on yet another complicated problem.

John sighed heavily and threw himself backwards onto his bed. He took the same pillow Sherlock had used and slammed it into his own face.

He liked girls. He did. He remembered their soft hair, gentle voices, curves.. yes, he liked them a lot.

But Sherlock Holmes... he was so amazing. Despite the situation, John remembered how soft Sherlock's lips had been. Those piercing, verdigris eyes never failed to catch John. He found himself thinking about those ever-changing eyes constantly. And Sherlock's voice. Perhaps it was that deep, baritone voice reading the Shakespeare that had caused John to kiss Sherlock. But then there was Sherlock's hair. John could only dream of running his fingers through those soft, dark curls. And John didn't even want to get started on Sherlock's cheekbones. They stood out with that long coat he wore... and the coat barely hid Sherlock's lean body. As thin as Sherlock was, John found it unusually attractive. Those damn tight shirts didn't help either...

John removed the pillow from his face.

"I'm not gay!" He yelled. It was eerily quiet, and John could swear it hadn't been that quiet before. Not that it mattered if anyone heard him, because he was only stating the truth.

He took a breath, trying to relax.

"I'm not gay," he said in a calmer, normal tone.

Suddenly, the door opened and John st up, almost half-expecting to see Sherlock. He admitted to himself that his heart sank when it was someone else.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was actually open. I'm Greg," the boy gave a weak smile.

"It's fine," John sighed. He had seen the boy around many times but always forgot his name.

"Er... okay," Greg said. "I was just wondering if you have any idea where Sherlock Holmes might have been. He... someone said he was in this room, and I just needed to check. Always gets into trouble, that one."

"He... just left," John shrugged. "I don't know where he went. Checked his room yet?"

"Well, yeah. Thanks anyway." Greg awkwardly shut the door and then John was alone again.

He closed his eyes, thinking. Where could Sherlock be? He had a feeling that Sherlock would never want to talk to him again.

Then, he remembered something and immediately got up. He knew Sherlock would probably avoid him at all costs, but he had to at least apologize formally. He wasn't going to just let go this boy when everything had been going more than well.

John opened the door and headed out.

...

As the day went on, Sherlock found himself unable to concentrate on anything. He could only remember John's face, confused and hurt that he pulled away. And then there was the feel of John's soft lips against his. It had been so long... no. The other times didn't count, because John's lips were not rough and demanding. John had been patient, hesitant, and sweet. That had been real.

Sherlock also found himself touching his lips more often. When he tried to take a nap - something he only tried when he was bored - he woke up from nightmares and memories. The ones that he could not delete, because they had been implanted permanently in his mind.

Sherlock couldn't talk to Molly. She was probably spending time with Moriarty. Sherlock shuddered at the thought and forced himself to stop worrying about Molly. If she was still going to classes unharmed, then Moriarty's plan had nothing to do with hurting her. Although he was so unpredictable and he could just be saving the pain for last.

Sherlock knew he needed to do something. Even if it was exactly what Moriarty wanted. If he just sat there not caring about what Jim was doing, someone was bound to get hurt or worse. And then it would be all his fault once more.

Now, he breathed in the fresh air on the roof and tried to think of anything else. He thought about his classes and Shakespeare.

Although the Shakespeare only led Sherlock back to John.

He closed his eyes, irritated. For some reason, everything that he thought about ended up leading back to John.

At one point he saw Lestrade walking towards John's room. He had heard half of the conversation and rolled his eyes at Lestrade. He still didn't understand why the boy found it so necessary to keep him out of trouble. He supposed it was some sort of sentimental thing again.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he froze after feeling someone's presence behind him. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'd ask the same of you," John said.

"You know why I'm here."

"I do." John cautiously moved closer. Finally, he approached the edge of the roof and sat on the opposite side. He didn't dare sit next to Sherlock. Not yet, at least.

"You are just full of surprise, John Watson," Sherlock said, still looking forward.

John turned. "Am I?"

"You can be predictable. You are supposed to be ordinary. I keep predicting your actions yet you continue to do something different. It's fascinating."

John was astonished to hear Sherlock - of all people - call him fascinating. He didn't feel very fascinating.

"What I am trying to get to is... I didn't expect you to find me. Other people, when faced with awkward situations, would avoid the other person as much as possible.

"Why would I want to avoid you? I... it was all my fault."

"Stop saying that."

"It's true."

"It's false. You assumed correctly. Given the data that you had, I would have not responded the way I had. Although there are some... glitches, in my mind that I have not fixed yet."

"Please, just... talk to me. I need to understand. I want to understand. But you're much too complex for me and I'm sure you know that. I want to know who you are, Sherlock. Just as much as you can deduce about me."

Sherlock finally turned to face John.

"You don't understand," he muttered.

"Then explain."

"It's not that easy."

"I'm willing to take as long as a thousand years to understand." John was serious. There had been no one else he had felt this way with... he wasn't going to let this fade away now. Not that he could control things like that, but if he had to defy fate, he would.

"I can't do this," Sherlock said at last, closing his eyes. His brow furrowed as if he were thinking extremely hard. "There's too much data. Too many things I don't understand. I won't be able to..."

"Sherlock."

"...function properly. It's been too long..."

"Sher -"

"I just wish everything would pause."

"Sherlock!" John stood up, approaching Sherlock. He sat down close, resting his hand on top of Sherlock's.. Because they were on the edge of the building, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist to keep him from falling. John was taken aback by the touch.

"Did you delete it?" John suddenly whispered. "What happened, I mean?" The question had been waiting to be asked since the study session.

Sherlock paused. "No."

John looked up and felt his heart and world stop when he found himself inches away from Sherlock's lips. Sherlock's eyes were excessively dilated as well, staring at John with the most intensity John had ever seen him possess before.

He wondered for a moment if this entire thing were a dream. It would make sense, considering their position now. Sherlock would never be so close... at least that's what he thought. If this were a dream, then John would be perfectly fine with it.

Deep down, however, he knew that it was real. He could feel Sherlock's warmth and hear his voice clearly. A part of John felt slightly hesitant about what was happening, but the other part didn't care about anything else. He wanted this to happen. He hoped Sherlock did too.

Surprisingly, it was Sherlock who diminished that small space between them, kissing John straight onto the lips. It was the second time that day. And this time, no one backed away. In fact, the kiss simply got deeper.

The feel of Sherlock's lips on John's once more made both of them feel a sort of unfaltering spark. It was a thrill for Sherlock, never kissing someone like this before. John could only realize how it contrasted to a girl.

Still, it felt more right and somewhat better for the both of them.


	15. Could Be Dangerous

**Chapter 15**

Sherlock looked around at the cafeteria and felt his heart sink again when he saw Molly sitting with Jim Moriarty in another table not too far away from his own. Molly gave Jim a kiss on the cheek before getting to get her lunch, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

He watched as Jim met his eyes and gave him that dead, cold smile yet again. Sherlock knew he would have to approach and so he did, sitting in front of the boy.

"Good choice, my dear."

"I'm not here to talk or mess around. I just want to make things clear."

"What things? We've been over all my rules, already..."

"Yes, but here, at this time, things are different. Maybe you are used to having control over everyone like they are your puppets, but that's not how it's going to be like now. You are going to play by my rules for may have thought you won last time but I'm still here - the game is still being played. It's a false check mate. You might even lose."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't wrong at all. You are different. You've changed. We should definitely begin to fix that. Wouldn't want you to get a little too over-confident, would we?"

"Listen to me here," Sherlock leant in close. "You do not hurt Molly Hooper. If I hear about anything -"

"You'll do what?" Jim smiled even wider. "Kill me? I'm not afraid of dying, if you haven't realized that after our years together. In fact, I'm just seeing how far I can push you until you snap... like a thin twig. It's been... what? Two years that I've been working on it? You're the puzzle, Sherly. There are some missing pieces... a lot of missing pieces. I want to piece you together, learn everything about you so I can smash your pieces and break you apart with not too much difficulty while making it fun at the same time. The problem is t I need all of said pieces, you understand. Though I am very, very close to finding them all."

Sherlock found himself wanting to move further away from Jim. He was also trying his hardest to not react to Jim's words at all. If he did, Jim would read him and discover everything. He still had new secrets... those were the only things he could protect from Jim now.

Another boy suddenly walked over. Sherlock stole a glance at the boy. He had dark blond hair and a muscular frame, as well as a tall height. He wore a black turtleneck and jeans. His cool, emotionless eyes didn't meet anyone else's, and that was when Sherlock realized this was Moriarty's new accomplice.

"This is my new... pet, as you probably have deduced," Jim said, gesturing to the boy. "Sebastian Moran. Not as fun to play with as you, of course, though fun enough. Very talented in particular areas. Never complains, either. Wish you ended up like him."

Sherlock wondered how long it had taken for Moran to give in to Moriarty's wishes. It looked like he had been a successful experiment in becoming a friend (Friend was definitely the wrong word, but what else could he use?) of Moriarty's, unlike Sherlock. He would have felt bad for Moran if he hadn't been worrying about his own life at the moment.

Without another thought more, he turned back to Jim. "I want to make a deal with you."

"Ooh... interesting. You know I'm the one who usually does those things -"

"You're going to listen to me now. Again, different time, yes?"

Jim looked like he was going to leap at Sherlock and choke him, but instead he smiled once more.

"All right. I'll play your little game. Let's see how much I've influenced you, shall we?"

"You can have me back. I won't protest. At least I will try not to. You can do whatever you want with me, and I'll go along with it. On a few conditions."

"Terms and Conditions must always be read efficiently... something you should have thought about before. Anyway, go on."

He took a breath. "My conditions are that you must leave and you must not harm Molly Hooper or Greg Lestrade." _Or John Watson._

"Really?" Jim smirked, crossing his arms and leaning back. "You would give away your life here for those boring, ordinary people? Yes, you have changed. Ah well. We will have a lot of time to catch up on where we left off."

Sherlock swallowed thickly and saw Molly returning. He stood up and began to walk away as Jim turned to begin speaking to Moran. Jim didn't call after him.

...

As John walked back to his room, he noticed someone following him.

"I don't suppose you are following me, are you?" John asked, his back still turned to the boy.

"Well, you got me," the boy said.

"Can I help you, then?" John was really not in the mood for any socializing or talking but it didn't look like he had a choice.

"Name's Sebastian Moran. I don't expect you to know me. I'm new... Was wondering if you give me some information on things."

John sighed and turned around. The tall, blond boy looked at him with a sort of smug expression as if he knew things John didn't. John was usually used to that expression because of Sherlock, but this was different. It was almost a dangerous feeling, like this boy could hurt him if he wanted to.

John shook his head, almost laughing at himself. Being away from Sherlock was probably making him paranoid about stupid things.

"Depends on what kind of information. I'm probably not any help for those kind of things. You should check in with someone else. This is my first year here, and -"

"I'd really like to hear from you, John."

John stared, now quite curious because of the boy's tone.

"Oh. Well, I... don't remember giving my name -"

"The faster we get on with this, the better. I know you'd like to just go inside your room and as much as I want to leave, I need you to give me that information."

"What information, exactly? I told you I won't be as much help -"

"I would expect you to know just a bit more than the others. You being the boyfriend of Sherlock Holmes, and all."

John froze, his heart stopping as well. He swore he had imagined Moran saying what he had said, because it just couldn't be. They had been so careful for that short amount of time. It had been a _very_ short amount of time, actually. How was this even possible?

"What did you just say?"

"Don't try to hide it, John, especially from me. We know all about that cute relationship you have with the freak. In fact, I have a feeling the others are beginning to notice as well. No one has dared come so close to the guy, after all..."

"That is none of your business." John was panicking on the inside, and he suddenly felt the need to run away. Though he couldn't, and so he found himself simply planted on the ground and unable to move.

"Oh, but it is. Sorry. Now, where were we again? Right. I need to know everything you know about Sherlock Holmes."

"And I am going to tell you why...?"

"Well, it's really your choice. You don't have to tell me a thing. But I'll get that information somehow. It's just... I had a feeling it would be easier like this, if I just asked you. If you'd rather do it the hard way, that's fine too. It would be more fun for me, but not so much for you. Better decide now."

"Are you... threatening me?"

"Impressive. Getting some of those deduction tricks from your boyfriend, I see."

"I really... am not comfortable right now."

"Well, news flash, buddy. You're not going to be so comfortable later unless you tell me now."

John took a deep breath, looking around for anyone. He just needed to know that he was not alone in this, whatever 'this' was. Still, it was absolutely ridiculous. This random boy asking for information on Sherlock... it had to be dangerous. If only he knew who Sebastian Moran was exactly and what he wanted the information for.

"I can report you," John finally said. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing he had said the wrong thing when Moran laughed.

"That will help you out so much, wouldn't it? I'm going to ask now and not again, because I'm getting a bit impatient. This is your last chance, all right? All right. Now what do you know about Sherlock Holmes?"

"Well, he's a fantastic shag."

"Thanks, but those details can be given later. I think you know what I mean."

"I actually have no idea what you mean at all. Really. What is even happening right now? Is this some sort of prank or sick joke?" John was clenching his fists now, ready to make a run for it. He didn't know where he would go, though. This was a classmate, and he couldn't get away from any people who went to this school. If he made a run for it or just went into his room, something bad would happen. At least he thought that was what would happen. Moran had mentioned there were going to be consequences... though what could be so bad in a school?

"I'm not afraid of you, you know," John found himself saying after a second.

"I'm not expecting you to be. Yet. Listen - we don't really give a fuck about you. We really just need you for Holmes. You know that, I'm sure. So you be a good boy and stop being a loyal puppy to him. It'll make things easier for everyone; trust me."

"I don't want anything to do with this."

"It isn't your choice to be. I'm getting really impatient now. Better make up your mind. Jim said it would be hard to break through your weird loyalty. He insisted we all be nice to you and give you a chance. You are most definitely not taking it, my friend."

John gritted his teeth. He really hated this guy.

"You can threaten me with your words. I've already made up my mind. I want you to stay away from Sherlock. And me. I don't care if we're your parents in some group project; I don't want you to talk to us or even come near us."

"I'm not sure if you know this, but you almost never get what you want. Some of us can, but someone as ordinary as you, you don't. It's just a fact of life."

"I'm not telling you anything."

"All right," Moran nodded casually, beginning to turn away. "Well, good luck with whatever happens in the future."

John, his heart beating quicker than he had ever remembered it to beat before, immediately went into his room. He locked the door, although it still didn't make him feel safe at all.


	16. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**A/N: You know how you begin a story all confident, and then it begins to go on and on and on and you suddenly realize you've been staring at a blank document every day? Yeah. Sorry about slowing down with all this. I've realized and accepted the fact that I'm going to have to take a break. Basically, Writer's Block is being a bully, and I have developed a wonderful case of carpal tunnel syndrome that does not seem to be getting any better. Plus, I'll be really, _really_ busy this summer. And I've been working on a lot of other things that need to be sorted out as well. I might end up writing some one-shots to practice if I have even a little time.**

** I just thought you guys would like to know because I am currently waiting for other fanfic updates from other writers (even though it's been months and sometimes a year.)**

** I apologize, and I hope there will be time to get back to this someday. For now, however, it's on the shelf about to gather some no-update dust. Just for a while. Thank you to anyone who's followed, favorited, or reviewed! Laterz. **


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